The Spectral Breath
by The-Freckled-Mouse
Summary: Strangers arrive within the confines of Skyhold seeking aid. A strange magic plagues Lahris' body. It's killing her and her only way of salvation is to seek help from those who wish to fix the tear in the sky. Though, she isn't who she claims to be and holds a secret that might just be her undoing. Solas x OC. Comments appreciated.
1. Soul Keeper

The Spectral Breath

Chapter One: Soul Keeper

_Curse the blighted cold_.

Stiff fingers gripped the cold, frayed rope of the reigns and tugged back from the horse's mane. The stallion, as dark as ink amongst the growing cloud, drew its head back with a heavy, unsettled grunt and adjusted its course with little ease. The slow, struggled strides through the mountain path proved trouble for him, as it did us. The path would not have been found if it were not for the banners nailed into the snow-deep monoliths close to the cliff faces and the crows that perched themselves on dead tree stocks and jagged mountain walls. Beyond that was an ash-smeared sheet, pulled taut over a horizon that could barely be seen, even to the piercing gaze of a hawk.

The cold had seemed mild at the beginning, but I should have known that it would not last the night. It began as minor cloud over the distant mountains, barely anything to be weary of, but later turned deadly. The clouds had clustered together into a veil that barely had a rift of light piercing through. The wind came from the North, unruly and unkind in its approach and seeped through the thick furs of my clothing with absurd ease. Each drop of chilled rain soaked through the instant of its impact. I tried to keep my body heat from draining away, but it seemed that with each ragged breath, the air stole a little bit more heat from my lungs like a thief with a strongbox and grounded it into nothingness with fading claws.

"How are you faring, Da'mi?" called a voice through the long, drawn-out howls of the wind.

With little strength, my fingers numbly tugged at the side of my hood until the shawl had come loose and was pulled past pointed ears. Hesitant, I peered out over the blurred surroundings and tried to focus on the far shadow of the horsemen that only grew fainter with each blink. The horsemen did not wait for a reply. He steered his mount left and steadily drew closer to where I was.

Jaras pulled the fabric of his scarf down past his sharp jaw and scarred lips and pushed back the strands of dark hair from his once tanned face. After only one glance, I knew that he had noticed my condition. His expression quickly turned from one of caution to a set of stern lines.

"Emma Souveri [I am weary]," I whispered in the elvhen tongue, while holding onto the slightest of hope that he had not heard me.

He had. "Lahris?"

"I'm growing cold, Jaras," I said and hesitantly gazed down my arm. I could feel the scar as it grew with each passing hour. The pain lessened once the feeling in my fingers had left me, but I still managed to shudder at the thought of it. "Damn it."

He reached his arm down to his saddle's satchel, but I caught it before he took hold of a vile. "It's no use," I said with a shake of my head. "Don't waste it."

"Then what can I do?"

I bit my tongue. "I can feel myself slipping away. I haven't long. How much father must we travel?"

My companion gazed out over the turmoil of ice, cloud and stone. An arched hand rested over his brow for cover. "Not far now," he said after a long moment. His voice was barely heard and began to drift into a whisper amongst the other noises that blended together. "I can see the outline of the city. We're close, Lahris. Just hang in there."

I wanted to. I hadn't journeyed all that way for nothing, but even though I was so close, I could feel the life within me slip away.

The stretch of snow passed and withered into patches of dark ice upon a cobbled ground. When darkness had settled and the weather had slightly cleared, we could see the flickers of small fires north, close to the far side of the path. Nestled between the highest peaks of the mountain was a fortress worn with age and cracked with snow. Scones lit the way to the tall, stone towers, restrained with heavy chains and thick layers of ice.

A thread-bared banner waved us past as we approached. The fortress' iron gates were barred from behind, yet after Jaras' horse reared its legs, the shadows from the inside halted mid-stride and turned to face their newcomers.

Jaras slipped from his mount, shook the excess snow from his cloak and thighs and hurried over to the front gate.

"You there!" bellowed a guardsman from behind the iron bars. "Who goes there?"

"We're here to seek aid," Jaras had said and slipped a scroll from his satchel into the guardsmen's leather-bound hands. "Let us in."

Even from a distance, it was obvious the guardsman had trouble making out the words wrote on the parchment. He gestured for another to shine a torch over his head for light, but even that did not last with the waging war of the wind. "Mercenaries?" he finally said, but it was more of an accusation then a greeting. "We already have mercenaries."

"Don't be a fool," said Jaras. "You've seen the hole in the sky. A few more fighters couldn't hurt. We're willing. We're able, and we're here. Now, open the gate."

The guard did not.

Jaras sighed in frustration. "Look, we both know that the Inquisition can use all the help it can get. My friend, she is unwell. She needs a healer. Are you going to let us in or am I going to have to break this Veil-saken gate open myself?"

"That won't be necessary," said the guardsman and turned back to his men. After a moment, movement had begun again and the guard gestured back to the others with a raised arm. "They're refugees. Open the gate!"

The great gate was dragged open and the barricades inside were pulled away. Crows fled from the disruption and only their black feathers remained. In silence I tapped my heels against the horse's sides and leaned forward. The horse's hooves clattered loudly against the ground as we moved, but paled in comparison to the heavy thunder the gate made when it was shut.

Tall, grey and grim-looking buildings edged the fortress' courtyard. Most held no light within their arched windows, and some had blocked them completely with several planks of wood. However, there was one building that was different. The larger windows of the Keep were bright and did not reflect the darkness of the sky. I could smell the lingered affects of berries and ale and heard tales sung from within. It made me wonder what was inside and why it was so full of life in such a dark time.

With the reigns in hand, Jaras led the horses to the stable area and loosely strapped my satchel to his shoulder.

The pain had begun to return and swelled my bones with strain and unease. My feet almost buckled when I dismounted, but I managed to catch myself before the impact. Guardsmen headed our way. Behind them was a woman. She wore a long robe, tied around the waist by strips of leather and silver buckles. Her thin hair was covered by a dark hood and she held an oak staff topped by a steel, arrowhead tip crowned with spikes around the edges. She took the narrow steps from the Keep down. Her worried gaze swept over the courtyard and then eventually rested on mine.

The voices of the guardsmen clamoured together. Some wondered whether to inform their superiors while others seemed weary of Jaras and I's appearance. Their fingers kept close to their sword's sheathes.

Jaras stepped to one side to allow her to pass. The healer halted a few feet away and looked me over. "I see no physical wounds."

_Of course you wouldn't, _I thought.

With a firm hand on the wall for support, I leaned back and undid the straps to my gauntlets. With those gone, the sharp bite of the air picked at the deep, ghastly, black marks that had scarred my skin. They were jagged lines with a broad size and many cross ridges that ran up from the tip of my wrist to my shoulder blade.

"By the Maker," the healer whispered. Fear was etched into every wrinkle and she quickly stammered back.

"What is it?" asked one of the guards as he stepped closer to the healer. An arm stretched out.

"I-I have never seen such a thing," she said and then her eyes became wide.

The guards turned to each other in confusion. Jaras stepped out from the rest.

"We were told you could help," he said. "You have to help her."

The healer simply shook her head. "But I do not even know where to begin, ser!"

Both argued for what seemed like hours or maybe longer, but as they did so, a feeling crept up the veins of my arm and tugged at the skin with harsh pulls. I stared back down at the scar, still large and gruesome. A small spark of violet light passed through it. My fingers twitched.

_No. Not again._

My blood burned from the inside. It juddered through my shoulders, arms and back. I collapsed with a gasp. Dampness clung to the finer strands of my hair as my head rolled back. A scream tore its way through me.

A shadow approached. Through the flashes and sparks was a worried face beneath his helmet. He reached out with shaking arms.

"No. Don't touch her!" Jaras cried.

It was too late. I could feel the surge of magic spring from the confines of my skin. The light tore through the guardsman's breastplate with a crack. Blood sluiced the iron and slid down in long rivulets to drip onto his boots.

He stood still. His arms were splayed out on either side. A strangled choke was all he managed to utter before his face dipped into the dirt.

The courtyard fell silent. Then, gasps, screams and angry curses filled the silence.

"Apostate!" many called.

"Murderer!" called others.

Swords sprang from their sheathes and were held high. Crossbows were aimed down from the towers and walls. Jaras drew his blade in turn and placed a protective hand over me.

"It's not her fault," he said. "If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get."

I watched dazed as the sparks flew up into the heavens, the buildings and in all directions save from where I laid. The guards leaped for cover and arrows were struck into the ground before me. The tips only just missed my body.

"Lahris," called a hoarse voice. It was Jaras' voice but it faded until it could not be heard. Nothing could be heard. Deafness claimed my hearing and blindness began to accompany it.

Lights formed beneath my eyelids. Blood ribboned through the air around, but it was not mine. No, it was from the others. Men and women. Guardsmen and healer. It felt like an endless, worldless time.

"Ah!" The breath was knocked out of me. My bloodied fingers contracted, twitched and curled.

Squinting through the veil of pain I saw the magic flicker, spark and then disappear into the hands of an elvhen. The mage raised his staff once more and hit the ground hard. Shock rove through me. Every body part and limb screamed for freedom and shuddered. I gasped, flung sideways, curled up my knees and shivered. The lasting effects of his spell slowly calmed.

"What's going on?" demanded a voice. She was difficult to see, as was all. Blurred forms were all they were, yet by her voice alone I could tell she was a woman. Human, perhaps.

The elvhen's hand branched out. The human looked my way and then around.

Bodies hunched and still were scattered around the courtyard. Blades and remnants of the steel and iron were buried deep within the walls. Their faces were unseen, but the crimson splattered against the snow made what I did obvious to all.

"By the Maker," whispered the human woman. Her tone rose in shock. "What happened here?"

The elvhen looked to the ground and picked out the charcoal remains of Jaras' scroll. He gently handed it to the human and then looked back.

I opened my mouth to speak, but all I managed was to take in a ragged breath.

The elvhen inclined his head. His movements were slow and calm, yet cautious. The sight of him was given with some clarity. I could make out the high cheekbones on a pale face, the brows deeply connected above a sharp nose and dark eyes filled with many emotions: surprise, weariness and pity, but amongst them all one stood out. Intrigue.

"Ma emma harel," I whispered as the spread of darkness grew around me.

His expression only grew more curious as his gaze drifted to my arm.

"Solas? What does she say?" demanded the human.

The elvhen kept quiet for a moment before he replied. "You should fear me."

...

[The Dragon Age series belongs to its creators, Bioware. I do not own anything other than the cover image and my original characters.]


	2. Innocent Until Proven

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Two: Innocent Until Proven

Feeling. Touch. Consciousness. Still alive, it seemed.

I took in a deep breath. The faint smell of stale sweat, iron and damp was the first to catch me off guard. The second was how cold the air felt and the third was the rough and unevenness of the ground I lay upon. The small, sharp rocks rested underneath my side and poked my ribs with every little movement. Quiet murmurings and rough voices seemed to resonate from the walls and floor and whispered around like the faint sounds one could hear when pressed underwater.

I kept my eyes closed and tried to make sense of what the murmurings said. I gave up after a few heartbeats. The words, if they were words at all, were spoken too quickly and quietly for my benefit, but as I felt the life return to my limbs and arched out my back, the sharp jarring and clanking of metal stopped me.

I didn't like that sound. The things that could relate to it were few and the very thought made my gut churn.

As I opened my eyes, I could only make out a blur of dark timber and high-gabled wall. Darkness claimed nearly every corner of the chamber, apart from the small slits of light, cast from the narrow ceiling cracks and the two sconces nailed close to the doorway and the back wall.

The iron bindings rattled as I tried to sit up. My reward was a flash of pain across my right arm.

"Fenedhis," I cursed with a gasp.

Gingerly, I felt my right shoulder. From the tip of the shoulder blade to the flat of my palm was bound tightly in fresh linen strips, and wrapped quite well. While slow at first, the linen did partially unwrap and I was able to get a peak at how far the scars had grown. They hadn't, surprisingly. It seemed that luck was on my side for once. Patches of worn and burned skin were usual; it was something I grown accustomed to. The deeper groves were also expected, but the fact that the scarring hadn't grown further was both a relief and worrying.

My thoughts were disturbed by the clamour of thumps that hammered from above. Disrupted stone and dust flaked from the ceiling's corners and oak beams. There must have been another floor above me, which meant I was most likely in some kind of cellar. Perhaps even a prison cell.

It was alright, though. I was not dead, yet. All I had to do was figure a way out.

I enclosed my palms and muttered a quiet incantation. I drew my strength from the cold air, from the whispering wind that came through the cracks and then the pools of ice in the furthest edges of the chamber, and weaved them into a channel of magic that penetrated the shackle's locks and froze it in place. The ice glistened against the fire's light, but as soon as I tried to pull the shackles free from their bolts, the ice began to melt and the chains remained the way they were.

For a time, the shackles were bound in green light, but it was only momentary, and the spell inflicted on it faded into the previous grime-stricken grey. Runes. Of course. Magic would not help me with those in affect. How clever of them.

The voices outside had grown louder as time passed. Footsteps, some heavy and some light, moved closer to the door. I heard the rasp of the door bolt and then the handle fell flat.

Immediately, there was movement within the room. It was sharp, quick and purposeful. The movements belonged to a human woman with dark hair, an angular face and sharp eyes. Pale scars ran along her jawline and cheek; an indication of her dealings with others and that she was not one to cross. Her skin, tanned yet rugged, portrayed many sleepless nights over the course of many months and the worries only few could imagine. Despite this, I knew it would be wise to be cautious around her.

Behind her was another, but that woman kept close to the shadow and hid herself from view.

The first human began to circle me like a wolf at its prey. Her gaze never left my form and only seemed to grow colder as she explained, "You enter Skyhold under the false pretense that you are a mercenary willing to fight for our cause and then you go and fatally injure my guardsmen. Some have wounds that will never heal. Explain yourself. Why have you come here?"

I refused to answer, but recognised her as the woman from before. The harsh and assertive nature behind her voice was unmistakable, as was the thick accent.

Her expression was as hard as a sword's blade and, without any warning, she locked her arm around my wrist and held it up high for all to see.

I steeled myself against the pain and pulled back successfully. "Do not touch me!" I yelled as my other arm wound round it protectively.

The human scoffed. "You have no power here. Tell me why we should spare your life."

Fear struck within my chest. "You're going to kill me?" I whispered.

"Only if you do not speak the truth," she said as she continued her patrol around me. "Answer the question."

Lying would be of no use, but I had no intention of telling her anything that lead to who I was. I remained silent for a few moments and thought over my answers carefully.

"I came to seek aid," I said.

The human's strides came to a swift end and, slowly, she turned. "Aid? What you did to my men was not aid."

"That wasn't my fault. Your men were told to stay away. They did not and suffered the consequences. I could not control my power."

Her voice sharpened. "What do you mean your _power?_"

I lowered my gaze. "Where do you think the energy came from that hurt your men? It wasn't by choice. I came here having heard that you could help me." I raised my head, hoping my face had stayed blank. "To stop _this_." I nodded to my arm. "Your foolish men just got in the way."

"There are many rebel mages outside of the Inquisition. Go to them to learn to control your magic."

"It's not my magic. It's..." I hesitated.

She leaned in closer. "It's what?"

"I don't know. It's not controllable. I've tried, but it's not like my ability to cast spells."

"Explain."

"I can't. Look, I didn't purposefully hurt your men. It's not like I came here to end your cause. If I did, I doubt I'd be here in this... _lovely_ place."

The human pulled back and rested her arms against her chest. "And if I were to believe such nonsense, who told you of us?"

"Now that, I cannot tell you."

"Under what reason?"

"He's dead."

"You're lying."

I bit my tongue, hard, until I tasted blood. The fear of their judgement weighed heavily on my mind, but I could not show weakness. _Could she not see that I was innocent?_

"That still doesn't explain why you expected us to help you," said the woman from the shadow. She took a step out. A hood covered the majority of her face, but strands of red hair came through. "Why did you really come here? Where did that power come from?"

"There's no use, Leliana," replied the other human. "Either way, her fate is not our decision. That belongs to the Herald."

"That doesn't mean that we can't gain information from her, Cassandra," Leliana said and looked back at me. "Speak. Plea your case while you still have our attention."

"It's a long story," I admitted, "but I was told of your Inquisition. You are trying to close the breach, yes? This power, magic- whatever you want to call it, it's killing me, or was. I'm not sure why it isn't reacting now but it's like poison. I was told that you had someone at your disposal who knew old Elven history. I thought maybe he could help me."

"You mean Solas?" said Cassandra.

I frowned. "I don't know that name. All I know is that I need help and I have nowhere else to turn."

Both humans exchanged glances. They seemed less cautious then before, but that did not mean that I had gained their favour.

"That still does not make your actions forgivable," said Cassandra.

"And you still believe I'm responsible for it," I muttered under my breath. "If Jaras was here, I'm sure-" I paused. "Where is Jaras?"

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "Who is Jaras?"

"My friend. He's elvhen," I said and touched the shell of my ear. "But he was the one who brought me here."

Cassandra nodded in understanding. "Ah, him. He is with the wounded, but will soon be brought into custody."

"Talk to him," I said. "He'll tell you that I'm innocent. He has evidence of what we found, of what caused this."

"Go and find this Jaras, Leliana. I'll talk to the Herald," said Cassandra. As Leliana left the chamber, Cassandra looked back. An expression crossed her face; impossible to decipher. "For your sake, you better be telling us the truth."

"And if I'm not?"

"Then you'll know about it."

...

"Worry fills her heart and mind - she covers it with a stone face and few words," whispered a solemn voice. "Darkness. Alone. What is this power? Why hasn't it killed me? He promised it would. Voices. Voices in the dark. A boy? A man? Confusion fills the void."

I looked above and around, but found no trace of the voice. "Hello?" I whispered in the slight hope that it was my imagination playing a cruel, cruel trick.

It was not.

"You're the cause for their suffering," it said again. The flames of the sconces flickered and the shadow of a man shivered across the ground. My gaze followed the shadow to the boots it was attached to and, slowly, I looked up.

It was a slim, motionless figure that the voice belonged to. He allowed part of his pale face and body to be shown, but the rest remained in the dark. "I hear them call," he continued. "Feel the burns they suffer. See the flashes of light before their eyes. Hunched. Pain. So much anger. Blasted knife-ear. Demand justice. Should never have let her in."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you... alright?"

The Voice nodded. "Yes. I believe so."

"How did you get in here?" I asked. There was no entrance apart from the one door and had not been used for hours.

"I walk within the shadows," he said. "Most don't see me. It wasn't difficult to get here."

"I see," I said, though I couldn't help but be surprised by the stranger's appearance. What he said made little sense to me, unless he came through the walls. I did not sense any magic from him, nor did I see a staff, but I did feel something. He was no ordinary man, that much I was sure. There was a connection to the Fade within him, but it was faint.

The Voice tilted his head to the side, as if studying me. "Was it your fault?"

I frowned. "Was what my fault?"

"The pain caused to the men."

"Oh." I shook my head. "No."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," I said and looked back at the ground. I had grown bored hours ago and had began to draw symbols into the dirt with my finger.

"You feel no remorse for them. No despair."

"Why should I? I don't know them." Before he could answer, I said, "Why are you here?"

The Voice lowered his head for a moment, as if thinking. "I don't know."

There was a sadness behind his answer, though I wasn't sure why. It almost made me feel for him. Almost. "Then leave, unless you're willing to help me out of these." I shook my arms. The chains clashed together.

The Voice looked at it thoughtfully. He waved his arms out and shook his head. "Cassandra would not be pleased if I did that."

"She wouldn't have to know."

"I can't."

I narrowed my gaze. "Then we have nothing further to discuss."

Footsteps began to lead away from me and over to the door. They slouched against the ground, but the sound ceased for a moment and the Voice spoke, "I am Cole. I didn't say that before," he said and waved his hand in goodbye.

I closed my eyes. When they opened, the stranger was gone; left without a trace.

I blinked, unsure of what had just happened.


	3. Decisions, Decisions

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Three: Decisions, Decisions

Patience was simple enough, wait until something worth paying attention to came about, but after a day and a half of being trapped within the bowls of a fortress with only the scurrying of the rats for company, I began to need more than patience. I needed to get out.

As if my wishes had been granted, the door creaked open for the second time since I had been there. Through the light of the outside came the tall figure of the human woman, Cassandra, and behind the bulky forms of her guards with blades close to their fingertips. As she stepped through, the two men unlocked my restraints and roughly hauled me to my feet.

"You're coming with us," said Cassandra sternly.

The hold on me was tight. Even with a couple of rough tugs, neither of my arms were freed from the guards' clutches. "Changed your mind?"

"The Herald wishes to see you," she said and strolled out of the prison with her shoulders rolled back and head held high. I wondered how she could keep such a posture for so long without her back giving out.

_Was it a human thing? _I wondered.

"The Herald? Who is he?" I asked after I took a step out of the prison. It was lighter on the outside with tunnels that lead both left and right. To where, I wasn't sure.

Cassandra looked back. "You should know. You say you've heard of the Inquisition."

"I have," I said, "but there was never mention of a Herald, only an Inquisitor."

"It is the same man but with many titles. Come. We must go to the Keep. There you will be judged accordingly."

"Judged? You mean this Inquisitor decides my fate? Just like that?"

"That is what happens, yes."

"And is it just him?"

"Yes," she said. "But the trial will be performed in front of the general public."

I blinked. Her words slowly registered. "You're jesting, surely?"

Cassandra did not answer. Instead, she stepped back and guided the way through many narrow corridors, all long, dark and full of mystery. As we walked, I caught the glimmer of a room. The doorway was parted and inside were the leather bindings of old tomes and a large collection of dust that hadn't been touched in what seemed like years. The books were piled and stacked along their cases in tight, neat rows. They looked interesting.

"Did you speak to my friend?" I asked as we rounded a corner.

"Yes, we found him," replied Cassandra, but her next words were hesitant, as if she was in the middle of deciding what to tell me. "He told us a very interesting tale. I believe an ogre was involved."

I felt the beating of my heart falter at her words and stumbled forward. My foot had caught a chip in the stonework, but the guards caught me before I fell.

"Watch your blighted step, elf-" one of them began, but a dangerously dark scowl from Cassandra made his jaw go slack.

"I must have misheard you," I said after a glance between the two of them. "You said an ogre?"

"You did not mishear." Cassandra resumed her pace. The walls flashed as we passed the candlelight. "His tale was almost unbelievable."

"What did he say about the ogre, exactly?"

"I believe he said that the ogre had large fangs and long claws that could shred through a castle's defenses without fear of exhaustion."

_That didn't sound too unrealistic, _I thought. _I could work with that._

"And that it could manipulate fire with its breath alone."

I groaned. I should have known.

"He said that you were on your way to Skyhold when you happened upon the creature," Cassandra continued, unaware that I had lost faith in bothering to think of an excuse for it all. "It only took one arrow from your friend's quiver to kill the beast. Lodged in the eye, he said, and then it crashed into a mountain."

"That's a very... vivid tale," I admitted with a forced smile.

She nodded. "Yes, almost too vivid to believe. I particularly found the part when the ogre survived, rose from the grave and led an army of mabari into Fereldan to be the most interesting, though I have never heard of an ogre doing such a thing. It is even stranger that the ogre vanished into flames upon seeing your friend's return and disappeared before anyone could notice."

Jaras, you imaginative fool. "I… my friend is quite the storyteller."

"Yes, quite, like others I know, though their tales are at least believable. Your friend also said that we should reward your efforts against such a beast and that a trial was not necessary."

"Of course he would." I sighed. "But, there is a hole in the sky and there are dragons. Dragons. Why not believe in a fire-breathing ogre?"

She scoffed. "Because not even the Maker would believe that."

It was sad to say, but she had a point.

The passages underneath the Keep ended soon after. A narrow stairway was all that separated me from the trial. I licked my chapped lips and followed on, but made sure that if needed, I had an escape. The shackles may have restrained my magic against the metal itself, but I could still cast against those around me. Violence, however, was only to be used as a last precaution. I wanted to live, not risk a hanging.

The great doors of the Keep were pulled back and we arrived within the hall, filled with many peculiar-looking faces. Most were masked. Some of the women were dressed in thin bodices with large, bloated skirts that bumped anyone within their proximity, while men were adorned with skin-tight leggins, puffed collars and large bird feathers stitched to the back of flat hats. It was quite an amusing sight, especially with the shocked gasps and exaggerated accents.

"Oh, dreary me. What 'av we here?" one noble uttered aloud. She must have been Orlesian. "Bah, look at her outfit. She must have crawled out of the dirt with those stubby nails. She's _so_ filthy, and..." She crinkled her nose. At the sight of my approach, she reeled back whilst knocking those around her to the ground and quickly fanned herself with a dainty hand. "What is that awful smell? Is she contagious? Keep her away from me!"

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

The hall was vast, at least as big as a city market and was adorned with tapestries and banners depicting the Inquisition's sigil – a golden eye with long, thin spikes on all sides. The design closely resembled a star or sun with its colour. I had heard of human halls that vast but to see it for myself and with so many gawks was both interesting and nerving.

Statues of a human god towered either side of the hall and reached up to an arched roof. Wooden planks and poles stood near and across the top of the second floor where the Keep had yet to be improved on. Workers from above kept their gaze locked on the ground, probably interested in what was about to happen.

Sat against a pointed, rose coloured throne was a human. He had a long face with many scars; some pale, some not, and they were carved into the shallow lines across his forehead; thin cheeks and unshaven jaw. He had a straight edged, hawk-like nose and piercing amber eyes; intelligence and power shone behind their sharp focus and watched carefully as I was forced to kneel on the steps before him like some naive servant girl.

Whispers caught the noble humans like a tree close to a flame and quickly spread into a vicious wildfire. Their courage grew and grew as more people chanted their thoughts until they all were demanding blood: mine.

"Quiet, please," said who I supposed was the Inquisitor's adviser, though I wasn't too sure how human courts worked or their acts of justice. From what I had heard, it usually ended with a gibbet, or a couple of nights within a prison cell. I wasn't too sure though.

With a raise of a hand, the nobles fell silent and tension grew in the still air.

"We have no name for this woman, yet she is present for committing violent acts of magic against our own men. She was found in the courtyard when we heard the news. She pleads innocence and states that she came here for a reason. To seek help. From us," said the adviser.

The Inquisitor leaned forward, his fingertips pressed to his bloodless lips and he spoke loud and clear for all to hear. "Which clan are you from, elf?"

I let out a shaky breath and tried to stand, only to be pushed down by a strong hand. Light flashed before me as a blade's cold tip was pressed firmly against my throat.

The Inquisitor scowled at the action and ordered his men to lower their arms with a gesture.

Once free, I stood again, that time successfully, and took half a step closer to the throne.

"None," I said simply, but tried to keep the fear I felt at bay. There was need to show weakness.

The Inquisitor's brows rose in surprise. "None? You're from a clan, I'm sure. The markings on your face. That's used for your kind, yes? What happened?"

"I left."

Slowly, he leaned back in his seat and overlapped one leg with another. His fingers entwined. "Why did you?"

"That's none of your business."

The Inquisitor frowned but, thankfully, decided to change the subject. "You claim to be innocent, yet you seem rather well for someone who came out of a storm unfazed."

"I'm sure luck had more to do with it," I said.

The ghost of a smirk crossed his features, but it left before anyone noticed. "Isn't it all? Still, my men suffered. They lie wounded in my courtyard. It's a miracle none of them died."

"I've told your associates that it wasn't my fault," I said in my defense. "They've talked to Jaras. They know why I'm here."

"Jaras?"

Heavy steps hammered hard against the ground. Behind was Cassandra and in her grasp, Jaras, who followed quickly behind.

"I believe this is your man, Inquisitor," she said and threw him forward.

Jaras' steps were unsteady and he landed on one knee. He reached for his blades.

"Watch it, shemlen!" he warned and, after a glance between both her and her guards, reluctantly rested his arms against his side. "Some hospitality you have here. Always so kind to your guests?"

I rolled my eyes.

Jaras noticed my reaction and smirked. "Good to see you're on your feet, Da'mi [little blade]. Was starting to get worried."

I smiled. "Wouldn't want that, would we?"

"'Course not. Now, back to matters." He turned to the Inquisitor. His eyes widened and roamed the gold arm rests and handles of the throne. I could almost see the coins being counted inside of his head. Jaras shook himself from his thoughts and spread his arms wide dramatically. "Nice seat you have there. Bet it was worth a silver or two. Know where I can get a fancy chair like that, lad?"

The Inquisitor, surprisingly, smiled. "Get a magical mark that controls the skies and an army. The throne comes with itself."

Jaras smirked and crossed his arms. "That simple?"

"Of course not," the Inquisitor replied and flicked his hand to one side. "Now, are you going to talk, or just waste more of my time?"

My companion's face fell suddenly and became serious. "You know why we're here, lad."

The Inquisitor gave a brief nod. "Indeed. You came seeking my help. But after everything you've both done, why should I accept it?"

"Because you'd be an idiot not to?"

With my free arm, I nudged Jaras' ribs, hard. He coughed, mumbled a curse and shot a glare in my direction, but I kept my focus away from him and on the Inquisitor.

"You don't understand what's at stake-" I began, but the Inquisitor interrupted with a low chuckle.

"You have no idea how much I hear that. If you're so innocent, then enlighten me."

I leaned back, surprised by the harshness behind his reply. "Jaras," I said. "Have you still got the shard?"

Jaras nodded. "Aye. I do." He reached down into his satchel and unbuckled the straps of leather. A block of violet crystal was pulled out. The keen, pointed edge was kept flat against his hand for a tight grip would slice his palm clean open and draw blood. It had happened once before.

The glimmer of the shard's surface against the sunlight gained many of the crowd's attention, especially the Inquisitor's. Though, he was hesitant to approach it and remained in his seat with a slight hunch over the edge.

He drew his hand up to rest against his chin and tapped lightly. "What is it?"

"We don't know," I said but kept a fair distance from it. The memory of its touch still burned. "I touched this shard on the day this curse fell upon me. It cannot be broken by any weapon or magic."

"Trust me, we've tried," Jaras muttered under his breath.

"All we know is that it's elvhen. That's why we came here. We heard you had someone who knew a few things about this," I explained.

A curious expression crept upon the Inquisitor's face, one I couldn't quite place, and he allowed his gaze to rest on the shard for a long time before he spoke. "I still don't see why I should help you."

I swore I must have looked like an owl by the amount of times I blinked. Those humans were so confusing. "You know what happened to your men. The power? It came from this shard, and what happened was but a small fraction of its potential."

"There's more shards out there," added Jaras. "We weren't the first to get this, lad, and this is the smallest piece. The others probably have more power than this does and look how much it's affected us."

"You fight for justice, do you not?" I said. "The people with the other shards are dangerous men, Inquisitor, and once they know Jaras and I are here, they won't hesitate to come here."

The Inquisitor barked out a laugh and raised his arms high in a gesture to his hall. "Have you seen this place? This fortress is impenetrable. These men you talk about aren't my problem."

"They are just as dangerous as the Breach!" I yelled but fell to my knees when a jolt of pain shot through my arm. I could see the fine trace of a spark flash underneath my skin like a light within water. No. It would not get to me again.

Pressure was applied to the fabric of my back and when I looked up, I saw Jaras' worried gaze. I let out a heavy breath and shook my head. "I-I'll be fine."

"No, you won't," he whispered and wrapped his arms around me for support. "There's a village, North of Fereldan and high up in the hills," he said. "See what's happened there, if you care."

The Inquisitor frowned. "What did happen there?"

Jaras gave out a tired shrug. "A whole lot of shit, is what. A whole village burned because we stayed there for a night. The hunters following us are not like a band of thieves or bandits, lad. They're worse and if you don't trust anything else from what we've said, trust this. They know we're here and they'll kill you all just for knowing it."

Shocked gasps passed through the hall. The nobles turned to each other and began to chirp like a flock of unsettled pigeons.

"That's enough!" called the Inquisitor's adviser. She turned back to the Inquisitor, but there was uncertainty on her face. "What is your judgment, Inquisitor?"

He looked at me sideways, as though weighing something. The two lines between his brows became deep furrows. His pause was long, and his voice moved slowly and carefully as if a wrong word could bite. "We help, but I want information on this village," he said finally, but there was an edge that could not be missed. "You will stay. For now."


	4. The Elvhen Apostate

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Four: The Elvhen Apostate

Dawn.

The fury of the elements had passed during nightfall, but the onslaughts it dealt had been slow and brutal. Calmer winds and sunlight were able to take command of the sky once more and Skyhold was allowed to live mostly unscathed. As the cloud cover drifted away, mountains rose from the confines of white mist and pierced the clear heavens above. The very walls of Skyhold remained sturdy and thick, undeterred by the past weather save for the occasional crack or crumbled tower, buried under broken rock from the mountain's landslide. The walls guarded the whole of the fortress, from the marketplace, filled with the lives and tunes of many chanting merchants selling their fine wares, to the clanking and slashing of steel from the battle training in the lower courtyard. Even outside, the raising of tankards and joyful banter could be heard from within the tavern's open doors and the sharp sounds of shattering glass sounded from the high towers, were mages casted spells far from any civilian's prying eyes.

As Jaras and I explored the fortress and its stores, I began to notice that there were few children present there. Most people were elderly or of average age, and those that were children fled behind their mother's skirts upon the sight of us. The fear that shone behind their wild eyes and curled up fists made it seem as if I was a beast, a monster, come simply to scare them in the middle of the night or to trick them away from their mothers like the Dread Wolf, or so the old tales went. I supposed the fact that I was both an elf and a mage didn't help to ease their fear either.

_Steel yourself, Lahris, _I told myself. _The thoughts of humans does not matter. _

The sharp, cold daggers aimed at my back were to be expected. It was worrisome, though. That much fear could never end in something good.

The rise of the sun brought a pale light through the silver glass of the Keep's windows high up on the walls. The streaks of light pierced the ground with blended patterns and shapes, but those were quickly disturbed by other shadows as we walked.

Far from my mind were the solemn ramblings of Cassandra. Over the course of a night I had learned that she was a Seeker of Truth; an agent of the holy priestess known as a Divine in the religion the humans worshipped. The Inquisition was but a small stronghold made to battle a greater evil, she did explain, and that the Inquisitor was the only heroine that could preserve peace throughout Thedas. Honestly, I had little care for their beliefs and plight, or for her words.

"This is where you will be staying for the majority of your time," Cassandra said as her gaze drifted to the blankness of the walls in some sort of pride that I couldn't quite fathom. She halted close to one of the three arched doorways and crossed her arms firmly against her chest. "Skyhold is open to you, but let me be clear. This does not mean that you have free reign to do as you please. You will be watched. There are guards posted in every corner of Skyhold and rest assured that whatever you do, I will hear of it. So, better not get yourself into any trouble. Is that understood?"

I gave a short nod.

Jaras, however, did not. Instead, he stretched his twisted neck out to one side and then to the other. His gaze drifted back to the Inquisitor's throne as he did so. The clicks of his neck made me wince, but it was obvious when something between amusement and distrust plucked at his lips that he was up to mischief, once again. With a roll of his shoulder, he stretched the tangled muscles between his shoulder blades and casually rested a hand over his mouth, like he was going to stifle a yawn but instead, leaned closer to my ear. "Bet I can get out of here before any of these shemlens notice, Da'mi. But-" He looked back. His lips licked at the amount of coin I knew he thought of, and he inclined his head back to get a closer look at the throne, probably to see if there were anything else of value he had missed, such as a jewel or gem. "But by the look of that fancy throne, I wouldn't mind staying a while."

Cassandra cleared her throat. "I heard that."

"So, where are we going?" I asked in the hope of changing the subject.

Cassandra, though not entirely fooled, directed us to the closest doorway with a gesture. "Right this way." Her hand rested firmly on the doorknob, yet before it clicked, she looked back. "You said you were looking for someone who knew your history. I believe Solas is the best for this."

"Solas?"

"A mage," she explained, but there was a sense of distaste in her tone, "like yourself. It was he who found you in the courtyard and stopped you before you could do more damage. He also was the one who persuaded most of us not to kill you, including the Inquisitor."

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. "That's nice of him."

"Obviously he saw something in you that was worth some interest, otherwise you would not be here."

"If you're saying that I should feel indebted to him then you're surely mistaken," I said. "I owe no one. Not you and not this Solas. I'm here for my own reasons. That's all."

"Whichever you choose. You did come to us after all. We must be worth something to you."

"Yes," I said. "A means to an end."

The door swung back. A passage, much narrower and shorter than those underneath the Keep led to the space of an enclosed, dome-based room with walls flecked with dark plaster and rock. Groves stretched along to the ceiling like bark on an elder oak and a large painting lay etched into the back of one wall. It was of two black wolves sat howling towards the Inquisition's sigil. It was strange and not something I had ever seen before. Within the furthest reaches of the room lay abandoned sets of furniture covered in sheets with dust and holes in the fabric. They mustn't have been touched since they were first covered.

There was a quiet air to the place that felt homely and was different compared to the larger, more harsh areas of Skyhold that were simply there for display and praise from nobles.

A light mutter made my long ears twitch and flick and, as my gaze drifted, I caught a glimpse of the rugged structure of a long, trestle table. A thick candle sat against its edge and brightened the room's dimmest reaches while also illuminating the narrow face and pointed features that hovered above.

Fingers ghosted the tips of old tomes. Once read, each page was carefully turned, as if one faltered touch could turn it to dust. A grey tunic, draped over green breeches and tied back around the waist by a belt of leather strips was what the figure wore and, as he whispered the words on each page, his mouth turned sour, like a bad taste.

"No. This can't be right. Fenedhis!" the elvhen cursed. One scarred hand obscured the animal jaw tied around the base of his neck while the other roughly fell down his face. He let out a heavy sigh and scratched the back of his hairless scalp. His gaze flickered to the side, then adjusted when he realised our presence. "Oh. Forgive me. I did not see you there."

"Problem, Solas?" Cassandra asked sternly.

Solas glanced between the tome and her before he shook his head. "No. It was- ah. Never mind. It was nothing."

Cassandra eyed him narrowly. "Obviously."

The elvhen hesitated, but when he did speak, he merely sounded disappointed. "It was nothing, Seeker. You will find no secrets here."

"That has yet to be seen." Cassandra cocked her head to the side in a gesture to Jaras and I. "You already know who these two are."

The elvhen's gaze swept over Jaras pretty quickly. One look at his vallaslin, the blood markings on his face, and he knew that he was Dalish. My markings were narrower, shorter and not in such detail, and though I expected the same judgment, it wasn't. His eyes met mine for a heartbeat, piercing and inquiring, and there was another emotion there. Something that came to memory. It was... intrigue.

"Ah, I did not believe that you would survive the Inquisitor's judgment," said the elvhen, "but it seems I was mistaken. My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. It's a pleasure to meet you."

I allowed one hand to rest on my hip, while my other flicked to his chest. "I know you."

Jaras' head jerked up; his eyes were two silver plates of surprise. Both he and Solas spoke in unison. "You do?"

"Yes," I said. "You were in the courtyard. You're the one who shot me."

Jaras' throat tightened as he drew in a deep breath. What I said slowly dawned on him and he turned back to the other elvhen with little more than resentment. His arms reached back to his blades, but did not draw. "Huh. I wondered who caused that. You weren't asleep when I left you, Da'mi. So, it was you, lad?"

"I... yes, that is true." Solas sighed, but it was a tired sigh and not a reaction to being caught. "I had no choice. To allow your power to grow, the outcome may have been beyond imagining. I had to act. You have my apologies, if it accounts to anything."

My fingers twitched. "An apology? That's all? I still have marks from where you attacked me. I could have died!"

Solas frowned. "Not by my hand. Considering the circumstances-"

"Circumstances? You knew nothing about what was happening!"

"I had to act," he said. His lips became a fine line of disapproval. "What would have happened if I allowed your power to continue to build? How many lives would have been lost in the process? I-"

"That's enough!" Cassandra quickly placed herself between us. "You did not come here to argue."

"But-"

"I said that's enough! What Solas did was necessary. Remember, if it wasn't for him, you wouldn't be here having this discussion. He was the one who convinced the Inquisitor to give you a trial, so maybe you should be thanking him instead of arguing."

"I-" She was right. If what she said was true, then maybe he did what he did for a reason. I may not have liked the decision, but whatever he did kept me alive. That meant something. There were other matters to attend to anyway. Revenge could wait.

Reluctant, I dipped my head as a sign of an apology. "Forgive me. Ma serannas [thank you] for your help."

Solas nodded in turn. "That's quite alright. Now, I believe there's a reason for why you're here?"

"Yes. I've heard that you're the one to talk to about elvhen history."

"Ah, yes. You have come to the right place. I know quite a bit about elvhen culture, or at least their magical artifacts."

Jaras scoffed. "Oh, you do now, do you, lad?"

The easy smile melted from Solas' face. "I'm sure I just said that. Why? You don't?"

"Aye," Jaras replied gruffly. "We've been bounced from one scholar to another, and none have given us anything useful. Think you're different?"

"I assure you that I know more than those scholars. From the look alone, I know that the shard you carry is no ordinary magical artifact. It is dangerous and by the power created and the affect it had to your friend, neither can be a coincidence. Do you have it with you?"

Jaras reached into his satchel and pulled the shard from its confines. The thought of it alone sent a shiver through my bones.

Another smile tugged at the corners of Solas' lips. "Excellent."

"Is that what caused the destruction?" asked Cassandra.

Solas shook his head. "I'm not sure yet, Seeker. Give me some time."

At that answer, she gave a shallow nod and slowly turned back to the doorway. "I trust I can leave them in your care, Solas."

Solas spared a glance at the Seeker before he took a closer inspection of the shard. "I see no reason why not." He reached out, but Jaras kept the shard out of his reach.

"Good. Report to me on your progress."

It was not long before her form disappeared into the passage and the slam of the door met out ears.

Solas turned back to us with noticeable relief and laced his fingers over his stomach. "So, where to begin. I assume your arm is better."

That brief thought sparked a quick pain through my shoulder. Unconsciously, my fingers crawled into the fabric of the linen wraps and tugged. "Yes, I suppose, but..."

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "The power. You said that it stopped?"

"Yes. The moment you fell into unconsciousness, the power within you ceased, as if reacting to your subconscious, or emotion."

My fingers dropped. "But that doesn't explain why I'm still here. That power. I thought for sure that it was the end."

"As would most, given what you went through. I'm sure further study into this matter will bear more fruit and perhaps answer some of your questions."

It seemed that Solas really was who Jaras and I sought. He did more than most scholars and seemed interested in our predicament, though for what reason I wasn't sure. I supposed that was fortunate, but the day was still young, and I didn't want to risk getting my hopes up.

"Well, since we're going to be here a while," said Jaras as he carelessly flung the shard into my hands. "I might as well make myself comfortable." Without another word, he threw himself into the nearest chair, planted one leg firmly over the trestle table and buried his hands behind the hood near his neck. A long, drawn out yawn escaped him and the chair creaked as his weight shifted from one side to another until he settled into a comfortable position.

Solas openly stared at my companion in disbelief. "What do you think you're doing?"

One eye popped open. At the look on the elvhen's face, Jaras smirked. "Making myself at home, of course."

"I'd rather you didn't do that." Solas tugged the book from underneath Jaras' boot. His foot slapped the wood hard once it was removed.

"Too bad." Jaras shut his eyes.

I could see the retaliation in the elvhen's eyes and before he could do anything to trigger Jaras' less-than-happy mood, I touched his shoulder and motioned him back.

"You don't want to do that. Trust me," I said.

"You keep interesting company," Solas muttered before his attention returned to the shard. That same curious expression was back and he laid out his hand carefully, as if seeking approval. "May I see it?"

I hesitated but managed to gain enough courage to place it into his palm.

As if he sensed how much the shard was worth to me, he smiled and said, "Don't worry. You'll get this back."

"I better," I said quickly.

"You're not very trusting, are you?"

From the chair came the bark of a laugh. "You're not serious, lad," said Jaras. "Good luck trying to gain her trust. That's an endeavour that takes years to get. Years. And she only gives it to the handsomest and strongest of us elven folk, such as myself."

"Oh?" said Solas. "By the company she keeps, I thought it was the opposite. My mistake."

A cold expression quickly fell upon Jaras' face and yet, just as Solas began to visibly rethink his choice of words, another laugh bellowed throughout the room and a wide grin quickly spread across my companion's face. "Hah! Looks like the mage's got some balls after all! You, lad, aren't too bad. A little know-it-all and scrawny, but alright. You just need a little ale down you. Ale's good for the gut after all. But don't let anyone know I said this."

I looked between the two of them, unsure what to think, and simply shrugged. "As I was about to say, I make it a rule not to trust anyone. That shard, valuable or not, is mine. I can't lose it."

"Then it seems I will have company studying this, then," said Solas.

I smiled. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

With his attention focused, he turned back to the table, ignored the boot prints that Jaras had imprinted into the surface and began to flick through the tome he had. His fingers idly moved from one place to another with intent and purpose.

"You never mentioned your name," Solas said after some time. "I told you mine. It seems only right that I should know yours."

"Why do you want to know my name?" I asked curiously.

He looked up. "It's a simple enough question. I just thought that it'd make things easier. There's no need to tell me, if you don't want to."

I hesitated. Names could lead to trouble. Sure, most knew Jaras' name, but mine was different. It felt different. I was careful with who I met and with who I trusted. I supposed telling my name would fool the Inquisition into believing that I was a guest of theirs, an innocent and someone who misfortune happened upon.

Casually, my gaze drifted to Jaras for an opinion, but he had already fallen asleep. I wasn't surprised. That elvhen could sleep through anything. Even physically moving him wouldn't help. He was no help for anything.

After a moment of thought, probably longer than I should have been, I raised my head and forced a friendly smile. "Emma Lahris Elgar'shiral," I said. [I am Lahris...]

His fingers froze on their page. "Elgar'shiral?"

"It's what the Dalish called me," I said.

A quizzical expression was all there was and a slight furrow of his brows. "A strange thing that the Dalish would call you that," he said before he returned to his work as if nothing had happened. "Either way. A pleasure, Lahris."


	5. Disappearances

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Five: Disappearances

"_You._"

The young man slowly turned from the edge of the wall, yet his face remained hidden under the large tipped hat that didn't move despite the wind it caught underneath. His feet continued to drape over the side, left to lazily tap the stone with the edge of his heel.

"I know you," I continued and moved to take half a step forward, yet hesitated and instead stepped back. "You're the one from the prison. You found me there."

A small nod was all he gave before he returned to face the slight dip in the hill that merged with the area of grassland below the wall. It was quiet, so quiet that the rustle of the tree leaves and the passing flight of a bird was enough to draw any attention.

Cole hummed a quiet tune under his breath and stopped when the noise of clashing metal cut deep into the other sounds and took over. In the distance, not too far away yet far enough to squint was another human who was in the middle of a practice fight with a target dummy, alone.

"Are you... what are you doing here?"

"Watching," was Cole's answer, plain and simple.

"Watching what, exactly?"

An arm was raised and pointed to the fighter. It stayed there for some time and urged me to take a couple of steps over the wall's edge but not close enough to topple over.

"Oh. You're watching the Inquisitor. Why?"

His arm drifted to his side and he hung his shoulders low, as if defeated in some way. "I want to help. He doesn't like me near. Finds it hard to hear his thoughts. Prefers the quiet. Wants to forget."

I opened my mouth to speak but stopped. That didn't make much sense. "He needs help?"

"Fire. It melts skin like wax from a candle flame, ever burning, shimmering but it doesn't go out," Cole whispered so fast that it was almost misheard. "Back hurts. Arm aches. The pain, there always and then never, reappears and disappears but is it truly there? Darkness, the fires grow higher and higher, blocking out the sky, ever tangling, trapping, caging. No escape. The heated breath of black wings, so close upon the neck, jaws spread wide and teeth laid barred, and then- nothing. Eyes turn to me, worship me, but all I see is the power, etched into my skin like a tainted mural, span and sewn with innocent blood - and I like it." Cole fell into silence. It was as if he had returned to the state I had found him in moments ago. His stare on the Inquisitor was not faltered and the humming began again.

"Cole?"

He looked back casually, like the spell was broken and he had come back to reality. "Yes?"

"How-" I fumbled over my words, "did you-?"

"I hear things," he said. "See thoughts. It helps, sometimes."

"But he doesn't look like he needs help."

Just like that, Cole's face was back to the Inquisitor and that same possessed-like faze returned. "So much responsibility. Once weighed heavy on the heart. Now he doesn't care. Hates what he's become, but it's conflicting. One rope tugs one way, the other tugs another, but which will prevail? Which side will he choose?"

Something was wrong with Cole, or at least not normal. The way he sounded was like he was himself one moment, and someone else the next. Almost like... "This must sound insane but, can you understand people, more than others can? It's like you know what they're thinking, which has to be absurd, unless this mark I have has finally made me lose my mind. Maybe I should see Solas again."

Cole shook his head. "I can, sometimes. Sometimes it hurts, but hurting helps. I _need_ to help. Stop the suffering."

"You're a strange one."

Cole looked back and for once that day I saw his face, but the confusion there was funny, like a child who was told a naughty word and wasn't sure whether he heard it right, or knew what it meant. "A strange what-?"

I smiled. "Never mind. It sounds like he has regrets about what's happened to him, but it also sounds like he likes it, especially the power he has. I don't think the Inquisitor needs your or anyone's help."

"He does," Cole replied firmly and stretched his gaze south to the training dummies. "I know he does. He just won't let me."

The clashing of steel stopped as the Inquisitor stumbled back. His sword faded into the grass and his knees were soon rested on by his hands. An arm stretched out and wiped the sweat from his forehead, but stiffened and curved against the sunlight. He looked our way.

"Hey!" he called.

I blinked and looked down. By the Creators. Cole was gone.

"What'd you think you're doing up there, elf?" the Inquisitor yelled.

_How did Cole even disappear like that?_

Unsure of what to do, I did the only thing I could think of. Lie. "Oh, just seeing the sights."

The Inquisitor's frown told me he didn't believe it. Shame. It wasn't that bad of a lie. "Don't you have some rock to look into?"

I leaned back against the nearest tree and gestured over my shoulder with a thumb. "Don't _you_ have other duties to attend to other than hitting a stuffed man with a stick?"

If a scowl could kill, then the Inquisitor's would have, and then would've turned my body into dust to prove a point. It was so profound that the corners of his lips seemed to droop almost below the line of his jaw. He'd likely stamp on me too, just for fun. "Go," he said on the verge of a growl. "Away with you."

I scoffed. "You can't tell me what to do."

"In this fort, I can. Now go. Don't make me ask again. Damned elf."

I frowned, but decided to leave. There was no point in making my host even more livid towards me, though the thought did play through my mind and though bad, the expression on his face would have been something to pay for.

"He doesn't mean it."

I jumped back. My fingers dug into the bark of the tree as if it was the only thing that kept me up right. Cole was there, sat against the wall further then he was before with his face turned away.

"How did you even do that?" I almost screamed and untangled my fingers from the wood. The scratches from where my magic bound my nails was quite deep but with a flick of my wrist the magic disappeared into the air and specks of ice drifted to the ground.

Cole gave a small shrug. "I can be hard to see. Easier that way. Less pain, and anger."

"Yes, well, don't do that again. Almost scared me to death, you did."

It was then that Cole lifted his chin as if startled by my words. His hands flew up to his chest and his eyes went wide with concern. "I-I didn't mean to," he said so quickly that his words mixed together into an incomprehensible jumble. Only the last few words could be understood. "He doesn't want to see me. I helped him by hiding. I am sorry."

"Cole, it's okay. It doesn't matter," I said in an attempt to settle him. It did, sort of. His panicking ceased and his shoulders folded in on themselves once again.

"Alright," he whispered, "alright." He continued to stare at where the Inquisitor had been before he had disappeared into one of the towers.

When the sun met the center of the sky and settled behind the Keep, I knew it was time to leave. I needed to get back to Jaras and Solas. It was only supposed to be a momentary break from the studying and not over an hour.

"I better get going, Cole. It was interesting," I said and took my leave.

It was only when I was a few feet away that Cole spoke. "He needs to change," he had said and then returned to look down at his fingers laid flat out in his lap. His fingers curled in on themselves and then out. His hat dipped. "He must change. I don't like him when he's angry."

I wasn't sure why but I was thankful to be back within the warmth of Skyhold's keep. Of course, it meant that I had to return to the room where both elvhen were most likely at each other's throats. It had only been a day since Jaras and I met Solas and though Solas had many ideas on what the shard could have been, he was no closer to the answer than we were.

As I approached the door to Solas' study, a low grunt sprang from the table closest to the hall's hearth and there, sat back with a mug in hand, was a dwarf, but not just any dwarf. He was a dwarf that was dressed as fancy as any of the nobles, except for the Orlesians, and with a large amount of chest hair on show.

"Hey," the dwarf said as he motioned me closer to the table. "You were just talking to that kid, right?"

Hesitant, I kept quite a distance away from the dwarf but allowed my hands to rest against the table's edge. "Who? You mean Cole?"

"Yeah, that's him." He glanced down at his mug, swirled the contents about and took a long swig. The mug was soon slammed down. Ale dripped from the brim and dyed the surface of the table in brown and black. The dwarf let out a tired sigh. "I know you probably have no idea who I am or what I do and, I'll probably sound like some mother hen for saying this but, is there anything he said that sounded... off to you?"

"A part from everything he said?" I asked.

Surprisingly, the dwarf chuckled quietly and reached for the mug again. "Well yeah, a part from that. We haven't spoken recently and I'm just- ah, forget it. Don't mind me. I worry for him is all."

"Are you his father or-?" I stopped.

The dwarf chuckled again and shook his head. "Have you seen many dwarf men harbouring human kids? Oh, how I would love to see the faces in Orzammar after hearing that! The expressions there would be priceless." He leaned back in his seat. "But no. Me? I'm just a friend."

After another long swig, the dwarf looked up. There was a flicker of something behind his eyes and a small smirk crossed his stubble. "Say, you're the one from that trial, right?"

I frowned. "What?"

"That trial that went on. Whole Keep's been talking about it. A couple of elves wander into Skyhold, turn the place upside down and gets away with it. Hah. It's not something just anyone can get away with, you know."

"What's your point?"

"Oh, I haven't got one yet," said the dwarf. "Just thought I'd meet the local gossip around here, see if the rumours were true. The name's Varric. Shooting fools is my specialty, but I'm also known as a rogue, storyteller and occasional-"

"Mother hen?"

"Hah, yeah, I guess you could say that. I was going to say businessman, but that sounds more apt right about now. It'd be one of my more embellishing titles that I've gained over the years, but I think I might let that one slide."

I smiled and glanced back to the doorway. "Yes, well, it's been interesting, Varric, but I must go."

He gave a small nod. "Back to see Chuckles then?"

"Chuckles?"

"The elf."

"Which one?"

"The bald one."

I couldn't help but smile. "You mean Solas."

Varric leaned forward in his seat and pushed the mug to one side with a thick backhand. "Hey, just before you go. Maybe you could come down to the tavern sometime. We could play a game of wicked grace, get to know some people, that is if you're staying a while? Oh, and I've heard about that friend of yours. What's his name? Jaras? Heard he's quite the storyteller."

"He hasn't told anyone more stories, has he?" I blurted out without realising.

The dwarf smiled a faint, half curve of his lips, sat back and formed a steeple beneath his chin with his hands. "What, you mean the one with ogres taking over Thedas with an army of mabari hounds? Oh no. Never heard that one."

I groaned. "I don't even know why he bothers. No one takes those seriously. You're a storyteller, yes? Maybe you can help him."

"Lady, that boy is gonna need more than help to make any story make sense, but lucky for you, I have time."

"It'd be kinder on the ears not having to listen to such wild tales," I said and began to wander back. "It was nice to meet you, master dwarf."

"You too, lady. And uh, don't tell Cole I asked about him, alright? Wouldn't want him thinking I'm checking up on him or anything."

"If that's what you want, Varric." I bowed the dwarf goodbye and headed into the study.


	6. Of Shards and Fade

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Six: Of Shards and Fade

I hated not knowing things. It made me feel powerless, useless even and without control over the simplest of things. Sometimes it was maddening just to think about. The day that thunder rumbled through the ground, similar to the bounded steps of an oncoming herd, unrelenting and murderous in its approach, was when things had changed completely. To have seen the very first sparks of green and golden waves as they drained the sky, once shrouded in grey cloud, was when I truly felt a fear I had long forgotten and never wanted to be reminded of.

The Veil between the worlds of Thedas and the Fade was torn. Flares of light appeared out over the snow-covered mountains, down the hillsides and even over the vastest of oceans. The Dalish elvhen did not react. The clan I had stayed with simply watched as the plains of grassland that surrounded their forests hissed and shivered. The husks of stone that had fallen from the sky had cracked and creatures, gaunt and thin, tall and deformed that could have only existed in the Fade crawled out like spiders through the smallest of crevices. Their arms reached up as if to touch the light for the first time, and by their rage, it seemed they didn't want to give it up.

They multiplied and grew until they took over the outskirts of the woodlands and drove the elvhen deeper into the forests were even the light of day didn't dare reach. It was then that the pain returned. It was then that the scars branched out, to claim more of my skin that had yet to be touched. I knew I needed help; needed to seek it from others other than the clan. The Inquisition, after sometime, was my only hope.

And there I was, in a study with only an elvhen apostate for help. The Inquisition used their resources for the tears in the sky and only the simplest of items were at my disposal. Yet despite that, it was what was in me that concerned me. The power within me for some reason had withered slightly. It was still there. It gnawed at the back of my mind like a lost thought and took more of my mind when alone, but for it not to be constant was strange. It was like the time before the breach when it was contained. I could breathe without fear of the power growing. To have that was something.

It had been many days since there was any news of the shard. Tomes were brought to and from the Inquisition's private library and time and time again tomes were opened, sought through and discarded. Book after book was piled high above the tables and chairs until they towered the chairs themselves. Not even the table could be seen through the thick lot, yet Solas managed to seek through each one with ease, like he knew every individual scroll and parchment, page and bind.

Because of my decisions, I was left to stay with him while he studied the shard. I, after all, was unwilling to let it leave my sight, which after a couple of hours felt stupid. All it caused was long hours of prolonged silence between myself and the mage and even then with the amount of books there were the time went by slowly.

Jaras had decided long before that he would return when there was actual news and, since there was none, he was away most of the time, most likely in the tavern or searching Skyhold for any valuables. How I envied him.

As the long moments drew into even longer hours and the wax of the candles had begun to melt, I decided to wander from my seat at the back of the study and unconsciously ghosted my fingertips over the study table's edge. Solas was too busy with his own thoughts to notice and added yet another tome amongst the growing collection.

How strange he was. He never spoke unless it was of importance, or to see if I was still there with him. He easily engrossed himself into his research, like the mystery of the shard was a challenge for him, one he had to accomplish. Maybe, for him, it was a personal challenge, or an escape from the world.

My fingers halted, twitched and flicked at the sight of a book on the table's side set apart from the others. How odd.

"Tales of the Fade?" I whispered as I took hold of it. It was old, that much was for certain with scratches and groves cut into the torn bind and cover. "What's this doing here?"

"Ah, that one is mine," Solas said and moved over to my side. He reached out. I pulled back.

"You read about the Fade?" I asked curiously and casually flicked through several of the pages. My gaze drifted from the blocks of writing to the diagrams neatly-drawn out at the end of the paper.

After another failed attempt, Solas took a step back and slowly folded his arms across his chest. "Oh, I do more than read. I live it."

I glanced up but was surprised to find a smirk and quirked his lips. _Amusement?_ "You live it?"

"Yes. I know how it must sound, especially to one of the Dalish."

"I'm not Dalish."

"You're not?" he asked. The amusement quickly faded and was replaced by a curious expression. "Forgive my assumptions but I thought- because of your vallaslin, your markings that you were one of them. I didn't mean to presume."

I smiled. "It's alright. If I was upset with everyone who mistook me for the Dalish elvhen, I'd have no friends."

"Yes, I wouldn't be surprised if the humans did so."

"Humans, dwarfs and even city elves, but it's alright. I wouldn't be surprised if the Creators themselves mistook me for one. You kind of get used to it, or at least I have. So, what do you mean by live?"

"Well what I meant by 'live' is up for debate I admit, but what I do is very similar to it. When I dream, I go deep into the Fade and see memories laid forgotten for many centuries. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen. They are truly remarkable."

I frowned. "You go into the Fade? Willingly? Isn't that dangerous?"

"Yes, but isn't any place? The Fade is steeped in mystery and while there are dangers, I have learned to overcome them."

That didn't sound right. The Fade was a place of demons and not often ventured in, not even by the Dalish who valued magic above all else. He was either mad or just plain foolish. Probably mad. "I don't understand what can be so interesting to go there. It's a place for demons and nothing good happens there."

"Ah, yes. Demons." Solas sneered at the word like it brought with it a foul smell or a bad taste that couldn't help but linger. "Tell me, how broad is your knowledge on the spirits of the Fade? Are all monsters simply there to possess the living? Must all be shunned and none seen as benevolent?"

"I believe what others believe, that it's dangerous," I said carefully. There was no need to upset the poor mage. "There are demons there."

"And there are also spirits that mean no more harm than a rock is to a river. Spirits like compassion, wisdom, courage-"

I quickly raised my hands. "I don't know much on the Fade, Solas. It's not like I'm an expert in the field. I'd rather not get into an argument about it."

"I- yes, of course," he said dryly and turned back to the tower of books. He grabbed the nearest one, fell back into his seat and buried himself through the flipped pages. When he did speak, he did not acknowledge me and instead, with a soft sigh, raised the book higher to hide his face. "Perhaps we should return to our duties."

I swallowed thickly. My throat for some reason felt dry and sore. I didn't mean to be harsh or say anything wrong. The Fade was a dangerous place, one that people feared with good reason. I may not have known much about it, but even I knew what could happen if something went wrong while in there. Possession and loss of one's body were not the only dangers.

For a while we were quiet, preoccupied with our own thoughts. The crackling of the fire was the only sound between us and even with his face partly covered I could tell that he was upset, still frowning away without a word, yet as the moments drew longer, I found my curiosity nagging at the back of my mind until it finally won, as it usually did.

"Is that all you do?" I asked after a small pause. "Find memories?"

Solas slowly looked up from his research, notably surprised by my curiosity it seemed. "A lot can be learned from witnessing past events," he said. "I've seen the most ancient of ruins and battlefields, attracted by spirits that over time have pressed heavily against the Veil, the barrier between our worlds. I have witnessed the loss of great civilizations and watched hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloodiest of battles in ancient wars, both known and forgotten. It is my hope from this that I'll find some trace of your artifact, the shard, but it is... difficult."

"Difficult, how?"

He stood. "The Fade is made up of individual interpretations, thoughts and opinions of all those that were to witness a specific event. While all truths, some may be exaggerated or simply there from words spread by others. The Fade is also much larger than it first seems. Endless, some might say. Still, I had hoped to find even the smallest of traces, but so far, I have found none. This shard of yours remains a mystery."

"Not surprising," I whispered. "But you said ruins and battlefields. Are these from the past? Can they be seen anywhere? Even here?"

"It is more complicated than that," he admitted. "Each place has its own story, but all places are different and it is important to journey to different places in order to see new things."

"Like hearing something from a friend, but only truly knowing it when you see if for yourself?"

"Yes, in a way."

My gaze drifted to the Fade book. He probably knew every word in it from back to front. I gently handed it back to him. "That... is quite interesting."

With the book in hand, Solas rested his palm protectively over the edge, gazed at it as if it had some sort of value only he knew and then quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I didn't know that was possible, to be honest. Going so far into the Fade and coming back alive, or not being possessed for that matter. It's amazing, to tell the truth."

Solas flickered his blue eyes over mine briefly, like he was uncertain if what I said was true, before he allowed himself to show a slight smile and slipped the tome back onto the table, nearly in the exact same place that it was before. "You believe so? Huh. Not many share the same views you do. Most believe it foolish. You can understand why the field is not common. It's not as impressive as some other areas of magic like throwing fire balls, but I am glad you are not one of them."

"Oh, I never said it wasn't foolish," I said. "But, if what you're telling me is true then seeing such sights might be worth it."

"Have I given you cause to doubt me?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, but like I said, I make it a rule not to trust anyone."

"Ah yes, now I remember." He moved to return to his work but his steps faltered and his focus found its way to the shard. "Huh."

"Is everything alright?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," he said and, after a momentary pause, nudged the shard my way.

I stepped back.

"You're afraid of this," he stated, the curious expression returned.

I narrowed my eyes. "Not afraid, but cautious."

"Why?"

"I just don't like to go near it, that is unless I have to."

"You held it perfectly yesterday."

"I had gloves on," I argued and took another step back, just far enough so it wasn't in a close enough proximity for it to be a problem. "I couldn't _feel_ it and it wasn't for long. I mostly try to stay away from it if I can. I was warned that going near it could be dangerous. That's why Jaras always kept it safe."

"By who?"

"One of the Dalish," I said. "The Keeper of the Dalish, actually."

Solas frowned. "I thought you said you weren't one of them."

I smiled wryly. "I'm not but I spent a while with one clan. That was in a better time. Anyway, the Keeper said to keep it away, or only touch it if I must, but with gloves. If I didn't then-"

"Then what?" he asked and took a step forward.

I took one back in return and felt the coldness of the wall press against my back. "He... you don't want to know. It's better for me to stay away and that's all I'll say about it."

Solas, after a brief look, took hold of the shard with his palms rested underneath and carefully brought it over. His movements were slow and not sudden, as if to show me exactly what he was doing. When the shard was too close for comfort, he withdrew it, then tried again. "How odd. Can you not feel it?"

"Feel what?" I asked, but kept my attention fixed on the shard. The light that reflected off it made me uneasy.

"The magic inside," he said like it was obvious. A thought must have crossed his mind because he looked me trustingly. "I have an idea, but I will need your help, providing you trust me."

A shot of panic ran down my spine. I didn't like the sound of that. "I told you before that I don't trust anyone."

"Yes, I know, but this might help me get a better understanding of what this artifact is. I won't make you do this, but it may help. You're safe here. You know that. Nothing will happen. And if anything does go wrong, I will end it before harm falls upon you. Do you think you can do this?"

"That depends. What is it?"

Solas carefully placed the shard back on the table and gestured me closer with an outstretched hand. "I want you to place your hand relatively close to the shard. You don't have to touch it, but keep it close."

"But my gloves-"

"You won't need them."

For some reason, I felt the pit of my stomach churn at the mere look of the shard. There was something strange about it, something that made me uneasy; like the world would fade around me and that it would swallow me whole after one wrong touch. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

Pressure was applied to my back and, without knowing, it nudged me forward. My hand leaned in, forced to stretch and hover over the shard. It was almost close enough to feel it.

The elvhen's voice turned low and smooth in an attempt to sound persuasive. "Couldn't hurt to test it, surely."

The instinct to lash out and argue was strong, but curiosity stayed my hand. _Why was I so afraid? _It wasn't like I had never touched it before and I hadn't died like I was told. I was alive and the shard was weaker than it was originally. Perhaps the worry was for nothing, or maybe it was from force of habit. _  
_  
I tried to swallow my fear, to convince myself that nothing would happen, but the panic was more than a flicker of doubt and almost took control. Almost. "I- if this goes wrong, I swear-"

"It won't," he reassured too confidently.

_Of course he was confident, _I thought. _It wasn't his life at risk. Damn it. Shouldn't have come to Skyhold in the first place._

"Now, hold out your hand."

I did, but it wasn't a steady hand. It shook, from out of fear or uncertainty or even both wasn't clear. I shouldn't have been afraid of such a thing. It was so small, almost as fragile as glass, but it wasn't. I knew it wasn't. It was so much more than that. If it wasn't, I never would have touched it in the first place. I never would have risked the position I was in.

My eyes closed. All that could be felt was the emptiness of the air and yet my fingers twitched at the mere thought of what they could scrape. A hand touched mine, cold and rough, and carefully nudged it down. The air was cold at first. Then warmth I recognised all too well spread through my fingers, up the veins of my arm and through my chest. It tightened and pulled like a strong tug from an even stronger hand and then, once my breathing faltered, it withdrew and swept over to my heart. It seemed to soothe its erratic rhythm, almost forcing me to breathe and calm down.

I didn't like it. It wasn't _me_. I wasn't controlling it. It was another force. _The power, perhaps?_

"Do you hear that?" I quietly asked. Sounds both quiet and low seemed to echo through my mind. It was a strange sound, like chimes that clinked together through the gentle breeze of the wind or the rim of a glass when circled lightly with the tip of one's finger. It was calming, soothing even.

"Yes," came Solas' voice and, just like that, the sound was gone. "It is the magic communicating with its original source."

I opened my eyes and pulled back.

"How very strange," Solas added softly when the contact was lost. The base of his face glowed in the light the shard had created, but that was before the colour had ebbed away and left only the violet surface of a glassy frame.

"Strange?" I asked.

"The shard. When you were away, it felt weakened, distant, like its life source had nearly disappeared. There was no spark, per say. No energy, nor magic. It was as dull as the rock it presents and now- hmm. I wonder."

The elvhen mage rested his arms out and enclosed his palms tightly together. His eyes flickered shut and his mouth began to mumble words in hushed tones that not even I could hear. Green light absorbed his hands like fire. Wisps of flames glided up in thick strands and the room became a hall of flickering shadows from the effect. I watched carefully as the light grew more intense and lit every part of the study until-

I lunged forward. My hands pushed the elvhen mage back and I felt the first thrums of magic flow between my fingertips and chill my palm with the early stages of an ice spell.

Solas fell back. His hands reached out and clenched around the arm rests of a chair. With both hands steadying him, he looked up. "My apologies. Are you alright?"

"What did you just do?" I hissed, but not out of anger for what he did, but for what I had done. I didn't do that, at least not willingly.

"I merely casted a minor spell upon the shard," he said as he regained his footing and straightened out his back. "No damage was done, of course, but the results are interesting."

"Results? What results?" My voice echoed loudly off the walls of the study as it grew more urgent. The crows, hung from the tower's loft above rustled and cried in reply.

"You came to the shard's aid," he explained slowly. His hands were raised in a friendly yet cautious gesture. "Whatever happened, it sought protection. From you. You reacted."

I wanted to shake my head, to refuse. All that I could muster, however, was a hoarse cough before I spoke, "But I... I didn't do..."

"You weren't in control?"

Wordless, I shook my head.

"Maybe this is why you're cautious around it. You're connected to it, quite strongly in fact. Maybe you subconsciously knew this and wanted to be separated. You fear the control it has over you. The question is how this came to be, and why."

He was right. He had to be. There was no other reason for why I moved without free will. I didn't even know what I was doing. It just happened like instinct; as instinct. "You- just don't do that again!"

"It needed to be done," he said and the crease between his eyes deepened as his brows pulled together.

"You should have told me."

"And then you'd have refused, or the experiment wouldn't have had the same affect. Nothing happened, at least in the physical sense. You remain intact and no worse for wear."

"Why you-" I began but ended in a frustrated groan. My hands pushed me from the table and, while careful not to knock any of the books in the process, I hurried over to the farthest corner of the room and took in a deep breath. The room suddenly felt too small despite its size.

It was alright, though. I just needed to calm down. Curse that elvhen. He shouldn't have done that.

I wasn't sure how long I was quiet but my thoughts were interrupted by the dwarf in the doorway.

"Everything alright?" Varric's voice came through. "Ah, uh, have I caught you guys at a bad time?"

Solas turned from his stack of papers and slightly bowed his head in greeting. "No, you haven't, child of the stone. Can I be of assistance?"

Varric, after a quick glance at the both of us, gestured over his shoulder with a curved, stumpy thumb. "Just thought I'd give you a heads up. Grumpy's coming with the Seeker. He's not looking too friendly either."

Solas quickly frowned. "The Inquisitor? Now? Why?"

Varric shrugged. "Beats me but you'd probably want to get ready, Chuckles. Should be quite interesting."

"Yes, I suppose. Thank you, Varric."

The dwarf smiled a faint, half curve of his lips. "Hey, it's what I do. Bringer of bad news and all that."

"I suppose you're not too fond of the Inquisitor either, then?" I asked as I wandered away from my place and back to the table.

"Not fondly no," said Solas.

Varric hesitated, most likely from careful thought on what to say. "He's alright once he's got a few drinks down him. Just a bit strict when it comes to his job, not that I can blame him. Maker knows I wouldn't want to be in his place. That's responsibility I don't need."

"Yes, being in charge of a large fort with many loyal servants must be real hard for him," I muttered sarcastically.

"Hey now, you don't know what he's been through," said Varric. "To have seen what he's seen and survive like that is little short of a miracle. I don't condone his behaviour but, what can we do? World's gone to shit."

_'It wasn't always like this,'_ I wanted to say. Things used to be so much easier.

We listened intently as we heard the footsteps echo through the corridor and into the study. Our visitors weren't far away. While Varric continued to lean against the doorframe and Solas merely sorted his sheets of parchment and tomes out into suitable order, I simply waited with crossed arms for the serious faces that I knew would make an appearance.

Their strides were fast and purposeful. The Inquisitor was the first to enter, followed by the Seeker Cassandra. Neither looked particularly pleased to see me there. Ironic really because the feeling was mutual.

"Elf," was the first word the Inquisitor uttered and I doubted he meant Solas. "Weren't there another round here? What was his name? Jack? John? Jared?"

"Jaras," I corrected.

The Inquisitor merely nodded. "Yeah, him."

"I'm not his mother, Inquisitor. Surely your guards would know where he is."

"Ugh. Why does everyone expect me to know everything around here? Am I some oracle or something? Look, you know what, it doesn't matter. He'll turn up sooner or later, I'm sure."

"I am sure that I can find him if he is important in this discussion," said Cassandra from the Inquisitor's side.

The Inquisitor, after some thought, shook his head. "No. He'd be useless anyway." His focus shifted to me. "You're the leader of your little group, anyway. You're the only one of use."

I frowned. "Leader? I'm no leader."

"Of course you are. Don't mock me. That friend of yours follows you around like some lost pup. You'd have to be blind not to notice."

"Inquisitor, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Solas asked, probably in the hope of trying to change the subject.

The Inquisitor looked back at Solas, tightened the collar of his shirt and cleared his throat. "How's the research on the rock coming along?"

"Slowly, but we've managed to find out a few things."

"Hmm. Not good enough. You're going to have to try harder or else give this up."

The elvhen's thin brows rose in an incredulous stare. "You want me to end this, when I've only just begun?"

The Inquisitor did not answer. Instead he turned his attention to me. "I've had my spymaster look into that village of yours, elf. The one your friend told us about."

I inclined my head. "You did? What did you find?"

"A ruin, that's what."

I tried to hide the smug smirk I knew would eventually appear, but it was difficult. "Told you so."

"Yes," he said in a voice less like ice and more human. Again, his throat was cleared and collar pulled. "It seems I was wrong. Apologies for that."

I blinked. I was sure I had misheard. "You apologise? That's a surprise, to tell the truth. Thought you were too high and mighty for that."

"Yes, quite," Cassandra agreed.

The Inquisitor looked between us all. His thick brows slowly rose. "What? I'm always civil. It's one of my most charming qualities. But that still doesn't mean I trust you, elf."

"And just like that, we were back to being serious," chuckled Varric from the doorway. "To think, I thought we were all getting along."

"Sorry to disappoint," said the Inquisitor. "How much longer are you going to need for this, mage? We need to get back to focusing on the breach."

Solas pointed to the shard with his hand and then at the papers he had piled together. "Things like this take time. We've only just began to unravel the mysteries that this artifact has."

" Time we don't have."

"Inquisitor, if you would just let me-"

"You're taking too long!" His voice once again became as cold as stone. "We've got bigger threats to take care of, or have you forgotten?"

Just like that, Solas' face hardened. His lips became a thin line. "I assure you, I have not forgotten, but maybe this can help our cause-"

Abruptly, the Inquisitor's hand was raised and Solas surprisingly fell quiet. "Varric, know any contacts that know anything about rocks?" he asked.

Varric cocked his head to the side. "Uh, rocks, Inquisitor?"

"Yes. You know, the things that come from the ground, mountains? Hard to touch and all that."

"I_ know_ what rocks are. Just wondering why you're asking about it."

"Isn't it obvious? This thing, rock, shard, whatever you want to call it, is not what the mage thinks it is, meaning it's something else. Could be a lyrium shard. It has the same shape."

"Well, I guess. I could try to find a few contacts down in Orzammar. Might know a guy there."

"Good. Send word to him at once."

"You honestly think this shard is a rock?" Solas said in surprise. "It has magical properties. It can't just be a stone!"

"I don't see why not," said the Inquisitor. "Could be a magical stone. I'm giving you help on this, mage. If nothing comes of this, then it's just a waste of time."

The study went quiet. Everything that had been said was said. It was obvious that there was nothing more. Knowing that, the Inquisitor turned to take his leave.

"Inquisitor," I called out.

He looked back sharply. The heels of his boots cut into the dirt. "What now?"

"Did your spymaster find anything else within the village? Anything unusual?" I inquired.

With a glance to Cassandra, he drew his arms up to form a steeple under his chin. "Like what?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."

"They found a body," he said. "Leliana said it belonged to a member of the Poisonswords, but whoever they are or where, they're gone now, at least from that region."

"That's the mercenary company you and your friend worked for, correct?" asked Cassandra.

I slowly nodded.

"We will need to contact them. They'll most likely want to know about your disappearance."

"No," I said. "You don't want to do that."

"Why not?" she asked.

I hesitated. "Because they never cared for their workers. For them to believe that I'm dead is the best thing for everyone."

Cassandra, though seemingly reluctant, nodded. "If that's your wish."

"It is," I said and looked to the Inquisitor. "Also, one more thing."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "And what may that be?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You probably won't listen to this but, keep your eye out. That village wasn't destroyed naturally."

Surprisingly, he began to smile, but it quickly shifted into a one sided smirk. "Ah, yes, these boogey men of yours. And who are these people supposedly after you, hmm? What do they want?"

"For that, dear Inquisitor, I cannot tell you."

His lips fell. "Why not? What aren't you telling me, elf?"

"Just remember this. The least you know the better."

Unsure of what that meant exactly, the Inquisitor turned and left. The door slammed heavily behind.

Varric was the first to break the silence. "Well, that went better than expected."

"What did you expect?" I asked.

"The usual. Arguments, shouting. More arguments. Seems he was having a good day."

I wouldn't want to have seen him on a bad day.

"What did you mean? When you said 'the least you know the better?'" asked Solas almost suddenly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said as I returned to the stacks of tomes.

Solas quirked an eyebrow. "Yes, you did. I remember you saying it."

"Maybe you thought I said that. I didn't."

As Solas opened his mouth to speak, Varric interrupted. "Leave it be, Chuckles. No need to pry." He looked back over his shoulder. "Well, time for me to go."

"Goodbye, Varric," I said as he walked away.

Quietness stretched out between Solas and I. The memories of the shard and what he had done still lingered, but I could not blame him. It did gain results and was part of the reason why I was there in the first place. I needed answers, even if those answers were hard to get.

"You seem to be one of many secrets," Solas pointed out as he sat back in his seat.

I bit my lip. "I'm not obliged to answer that," I said with a forced smile and returned to my seat at the back of the study.

How right he was, though, but I couldn't let anyone know.

Some secrets were better left unsaid.


	7. A Fair Tale

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Seven: A Fair Tale

"I hate it here," the speaker - Jaras had said with his mouth and chin dipped under the iron rim of a stained and scarred tankard that had chips missing from the bottom. A mixture of ale and rum trickled down the confines of his chin, throat and around the handle his rough fingers held in an iron grip.

I glanced down at the dark reflection of a dark face and black hair in my glass, hidden under the light of a sconce and blended with the lighter shades of wine and water. My hand was fast. The alcohol was quickly gulped down and took effect - burning the lower part of my throat like a slow fire, but it was worth it. "What about it don't you like?"

"The walls. Shemlen. The way they give us looks, like we don't belong here." He eyed the lack of contents in his hand and flicked his wrist. Ale was poured and that too was lost without another thought.

"We don't belong here," I said.

"I know that, and they know that, but they don't have to keep reminding me of it." The tankard clanged hard against the table's surface. The sound bounced off the tavern's walls and high up to the third floor were the unsteady snores of drunkards were disturbed, but quickly settled. The chatter behind had hushed and the curious gaze of the humans felt like an itch one could not scratch, though it soon perked up once more tankards were set upon crowded tables and the bard began to play her mellow tune. The song, I believed, was called Once We Were, but it wasn't one I knew by heart, only one that I had heard once or twice in a late evening spent alone.

"Was starting to get used to it here," he added, almost sadly, "but then you hear the whispers behind the walls and sometimes in front of my very face! The nerve. Bah. We shouldn't have come here."

"You didn't have to come along," I said. "You could have stayed at na arla, your home."

"What? Cleanin' halla shit and listenin' to the songs they sing every bloody night? No thanks. Might not like it here but I don't want to go back home either. There's only so much one can take of my lethallin, even if they are kin."

I smiled. "Nonsense. The clan's singing wasn't so bad. I remember when you'd join in, once you had enough ale in you."

A smirk grew wide against his face and he leaned one elbow behind his chair while another draped across his lap. Both legs were drawn across the table with the boots kicked off. "Yeah. That was usually after a few of the clansman and I had robbed a merchant's ale kegs. Ah, what a night they'd be."

"I swear, the humans probably thought those old tales about the Dalish were true with all the noise you would make."

Jaras shrugged. "Served 'em right, believing such superstitious nonsense."

"That superstitious nonsense is what kept the humans off your tail. Be grateful they're there, even if most are stupid."

"Hah. You know, I remember a time when a couple of the lads and I went out hunting one night-"

I held my hand up, already knowing what tale he had in mind. "Not this tale again."

"No, no this is different, I swear it. Want to hear?"

I glanced around the tavern. It was only then that I noticed the smell of berries, lichor and smoke. Fires burned in the central hearth of the high-beamed room and cast shadows across the drumming floorboards. "Alright," I said as I leaned forward and drew my arms underneath. "I have time. Dirth ma, tell me."

His sly smirk only grew as he raised his tankard up and brought a spare hand to scratch his jaw in thought. "Good. So, where to begin? It was a long time ago. Long before you arrived. Several of the lads and I were out and about doing our usual hunting strategies, you know looking for hares, gathering herbs and all that. The lads go and search for tracks while I wander off in search of the nearest village-"

"Ah," I interrupted, "so not such the great hunter that I was told you were then? I was wondering where all those rabbits came from one night."

The prideful posture my companion had hunched over and his lips fell into a feigned yet almost believable frown. A bare hand rested across his heart as he gave out a heavy, pained sigh. "You hurt me, Da'mi, but you're so very, very wrong. _I_ happen to be the best swordsman my clan has. Maybe the only, considering most use that toothpick they call a bow." Jaras quickly corrected himself by throwing his hands up behind his head, resting them against the crook of his neck and then, with a flick of his tongue, openly stared up at the ceiling that was almost enveloped completely in darkness except for the occasional flicker of candlelight. "So, I'm searching the woodlands when I see a light."

"A light?"

"Yes, Da'mi. A light. Now, it weren't a firefly, nor was it some fancy spell the Keepers do. It was a fire. A campfire. Turns out a group of young shemlen wandered into our territory thinking they were brave and all that. Probably wanted to impress their ladies, but all the impression they gave was one that sent them running to their mothers."

I leaned further forward so that my stomach touched the table's edge. "Ooh, this I must know. Tell me more."

"So, there I was," he began, drew his arms out and imitated the actions he had once done for all to see, "in the vast woodland, left deciding between tailing it home or staying to watch. Then, an idea popped into mind. One of the shemlen spoke up and said, 'You hear the stories about the knife-ears out here?' 'No,' replied the other. 'Well,' said the first, 'they say these knife-ears are everywhere. Hiding amongst the trees, down the ditches and even in the rivers, waiting for weary travelers to get lost so they can drag them back to their camp.' And the other said, 'That's nonsense. They can't be everywhere. The forest is too big.' 'Ah,' said the first, 'but that's where they trick ya. Have the animals on their side, they do. The wolves and all. In fact, if you hear a wolf, it's said that their masters aren't far behind.'"

"They truly believed that?" I asked.

Jaras gave an exaggerated nod. "Aye, Da'mi."

"So what happened next?"

"Well being the useful 'knife-ear' I am, I decided to help them out with their little problem. You see, they began to argue about which one of them was right, so I moved over onto the nearest ledge, cupped my hands together and howled a howl so loud that it sent them peeing in their pants."

"By the Creators, no way!"

"Honest, it did. 'Course they didn't leave. Not yet. I grabbed my sword and began yanking it against the stone, then on the trees. All the shemlens had were pitchforks and they huddled themselves into a corner by the fire. Now the men, trying to be brave I guess, stepped out of the huddle and headed into the forest. Now, this is where I really got 'em. You see, my hunting partners had come back and knew what I was doing. They joined in! One began to howl, as did the other, until there were three men howling and the other, being me, shouting curses in elvhen. I tripped one shemlen over with a loose root while another clansman shot an arrow mere inches from the other's head. Then, when both shemlen were scared shitless, I rolled my shoulders back like this-" he gestured to both shoulders, rolled them back and spread them wide on either side, "raised my head and drew my swords so they were out in both hands. Then, I yelled, "I am the Dread Wolf! Cower before me oh balless shemlen!" Turns out, they'd heard the stories of the Dread Wolf, which only made their reaction all the sweeter."

"They heard about Fen'Harel? How?"

Jaras gave a sheepish grin. "I, um, may have robbed their village a couple of times and left a note or two calling myself the Dread Wolf. I know how it sounds, but they didn't know who he was and the name is quite good. If they ever mentioned it to an elf then they'd hear more terrifying tales. Couldn't pass up the chance and it served a purpose."

I quirked an eyebrow, smirked and then gestured with my hand for him to continue the story. "Sure. What happened next?"

"Well if I tried to act anymore intimidating the shemlen would've probably died of fright, and that'd have been no fun at all. Where's the thrill in getting it all over with? So, I said to them, 'You have trespassed on my sacred ground for the last time, shemlen. What will you give as atonement for your petty lives?'"

"You know," Jaras added after a moment. "For shemlen out in the woods, they had a lot of coin on 'em. Copper, silver and even family trinkets. Had to wonder whether they brought it to impress their ladies or simply 'cause they could. One even ran to his lady and brought back her jewelry in exchange. 'Oh no,' I said. 'You have defiled my home with your filth and so I demand that you leave my home like only the animals you are could do.'"

I thought over the meaning for a moment. "Like only an animal could do? What do you... you don't mean-"

"Oh, yes," he said with a wicked grin. "They scampered from the woods as bare as the day they came out of their mothers. Now _that_ is justice!"

I couldn't help it. My hands flew to my mouth as a laugh filled the room. Conversations ceased but all I could do was imagine the bare bodies of grown men running from the forest with terrified faces. It took many moments before I had regained my breathing but even then it was difficult to steady the chuckles that escaped.

"You were right, Jaras," I said after a while and tried to drink the last of my wine without coughing it back up. "That was a funny tale."

"Aye," he said, rather proud of the story and the reaction. "Though it turns out the Keeper's second had seen the whole thing. When the Keeper heard he wasn't impressed. Had to give the money to him and the jewelry. Also had to clean the aravels after every trek, but it was worth it to see the shocks on the shemlen's faces."

"So that's why every time you went hunting the Keeper would give you strange looks," I said.

"Aye, now you know why."

"Hey!" A voice called from behind.

A fair, grimy-haired human with the stench of a stable about him stood up from his table. His jaw was locked in some form of anger. I wasn't sure what the cause of such anger was, though. His drawn face was pale in the fire's light. "Couldn't help but overhear your story, _friend. _You know, that reminds me a lot of what happened to my friend and I quite a while ago. Right?"

"Sure does," replied another human hunched over in his chair. He too stood and allowed the chair to screech against the ground.

Jaras' face quickly dropped and the smirk that was once there faded almost instantly. "Oh, shit."

I swallowed and exchanged a worried look with him. "They were in this place the whole time?"

Both of us left our seats. The backs of our chairs hit the ground hard and my legs were almost tangled in the wood. The men only moved closer.

"I've been telling that story for years," said Jaras. "How'd I know this time they'd be here?"

The first human's voice rose as he headed to us, shoulders hunched and fists out. "You cost me my girl, elf."

Jaras merely scoffed. "With a face like yours? Poor thing must've been blind, or couldn't smell to save her life. Sure. If that lass had any sense, she'd have ditched you the moment she met you."

My back was the first to hit something, flat and solid. A wall.

Both humans flexed their fingers and shoulders, ready for a fight.

"That does it-" the first snapped. I ducked. A brass mug struck the wall with a hollow clang. Wine sprayed the brick and slid down in long droplets that hastily met the floor. I flinched and I'm sure everyone else did too. "Leave the girl," the human hissed at his companion. He stalked over to Jaras who was stuck in the tavern's corner with a tankard still in hand.

I hesitated. "Now, wait a moment, I'm sure we can sort this out-"

"Shut it," hissed the human's companion.

I bit my tongue, but not out of fear, but surprise.

As they drew closer, Jaras took one final swig before the tankard was dropped and his hands held out. "Now lads, take it easy. What is it you shemlen say? Better to have loved once then never to have loved at all? Well, in your cases it must've only been once. Creators, I feel sorry for the women. You're rich, right?"

"You cost me my life!" the first human yelled and flung yet another mug at the wall.

Jaras just managed to miss it. His back touched the other wall where the cluster of tables was thicker. "Hey, no use wasting ale, lad. If you're going to fight, then fight."

That seemed to be all the encouragement the men needed. Without another word, both darted to him while knocking both tables and chairs on their way through. As the humans drew close, Jaras clutched the end of his table and, with a heavy grunt, began to push forward. The room creaked. The floor rumbled like distant thunder. The table collided into the stomach of the second, while only the fists of the first. Both humans sprang to topple the table, but Jaras knew and with quick steps jumped out of the way and into the middle of the room.

"Stop bloody dancin', knife-ear!" one called.

Jaras smiled a wild, enthusiastic smile and gestured for them to follow with a tip of his head and cupped fingers. "Well then, shall we dance?"

I waited until the first man drew the first blow, only to miss my friend's body completely and to be jabbed in the ribs in return. My fingers began to tingle with magic but as I glanced around the room, the cheers of the drunkards and patrons filling the air, I knew I couldn't cast a spell. It'd only remind them of what I did the first time I arrived in Skyhold and might have turned them against me. Instead, my gaze landed on an iron plate, left discarded with left-over chicken bone and carrots. I took the plate. My fingers curved around the jagged edges as I crept over to the second human and, once his head had turned and he made to lunge, I forced it down with as much force as my muscles could muster. The crack was not from the plate but bone. The sharpest edge caught the man's shoulder at just the right angle for the arm to yank back and an ungodly wail to ring through the crowd's chants.

The plate was swung again. Iron shattered skin and jaw. The human stumbled back.

"Is that all you got?" I overheard someone shout from behind.

Close by, Jaras was still in his fight. With each thrust of bare fists, the human became slower and clumsier. The quick jabs and dodges Jaras did and the many failed attempts of the human warred him down and the frustration made him careless. It weakened him and allowed for Jaras to find and jab his weak points with sharp fingers, such as the lower half of his ribs, the left shoulder in the point where the muscle was weakest and the bandaged knee with no weight leaned upon it.

The chants of the onlookers became louder and more demanding, like a dramatic symphony meshed with raucous laughter and clashed tankards. Jaras' smirk became wide as his cockiness grew. He drew his arms up, gesturing for the crowd to chant louder, harsher. The human lunged but Jaras slipped past. His eyes met mine. The easy smile melted from his face, replaced by fear. "Da'mi, look out!"

Instinct took over, but it was too late. I looked back. A snarl, low and almost inhuman left the cut lips of my opponent. There was a flash of white and then darkness.

I cried out. My body became water.

My gaze flickered between dark and light, only after long moments to slowly blend into one image. The darkness receded to the corners of my eyes and the coldness pressed against my cheek and pain in my jaw became clear. A shadow, once distant but quickly grown moved back and then forward. His hand rested against his hip and drew something sharp and pointed.

Light caught the steel's tip, glistening against the candlelight. It was a blade. It sliced through the air almost too fast to see. I lifted my hands. Silence was what came first and then shocked gasps.

What happened next was a surprise, but not an unwanted one. Specks of frost and cold sheathed the man's tunic and pants. His blade froze to the skin and his feet to the floorboards in thick ice clusters. My fingers glowed from the after effect of the spell and, with a shiver and grunt, the human fell half-hunched. With a sharp intake of breath, I wiped the blood from my mouth and stood. The man's eyes were wide with splinters of white scouring the brows and specks dotted upon the eyelashes, but even in such a state, there was no hiding the fear behind them.

"Enough," I said and flexed my wrist. The magic disappeared. The ice melted and was replaced by water. The human gave in and flopped to the floor like a landed fish, though he shivered a little due to the cold.

For a moment, I dared not do anything other than breathe. The effect of the fight still shook every fibre of my being. But it was not over. Not yet.

"Little help here, Da'mi," Jaras called.

Two swords slashed unevenly through the air. Sometime during the fight, the human Jaras fought had gained access to his blades and now held them out, both pointed toward Jaras' chest. Jaras stood there, a chair's leg cuffed in his bloodied hands, with another bloody cut through the rough skin of his jaw and the rim of his brow and cheek red with the beginnings of a black eye.

"Put the swords down, shemlen," Jaras said to the human.

The human did not.

"Oi! Get over here so we can finish him," the human said, but frowned when there was no reply. He glanced left, first to me and then to his friend who was laid spread out across the floor. There was no fear behind his cold gaze then, only anger. Anger one would get when witnessing his friend's defeat.

Ignoring Jaras, the human turned the swords to me; deliberately flicking both arms out in an intimidating manner.

I narrowed my eyes. The crowd be damned. That human wasn't going to lay a hair on me, not when a simple flick of my wrist could nail him to the ground. But I did not have to move, nor react, for when the man made his approach, his shoulder jerked back and a cry tore through him. The attack was so sudden that it could've come from anywhere. There torn through the fabric of his shirt was what looked like a long, drawn-out thorn stuck in the skin that had begun to bleed, but on closer look, it turned out to be a bolt of wood with an iron tip.

"Now, now," came a familiar voice through the thick of the crowd. "Has anyone told you to play nicely? Using a sword in a fist fight, now that's just cheating." The dwarf stepped out from the mass of people and soundlessly pulled the thick, metal lever back from his very large and unusually crafted crossbow.

"Varric?" I whispered.

The dwarf smirked my way, winked and then moved to the human. Despite his small size, he could be quite intimidating. "You know what I say to cheaters?" he asked in a low voice that could not be missed.

The human, contorted in pain and with a grimace displayed across his features, merely shook his head.

"Don't get caught." The bolt was ripped from the seams. It caused the man to gasp out before crumbling to the ground in half-breaths. "Now these two here, they're my friends, and no one messes with my friends unless they've got a pretty good damn excuse, and I don't think you have that."

Varric allowed the man to get to his feet. His friend, who had gained consciousness sometime before, took his arm and wrapped it around his neck.

The dwarf motioned to the doorway with a tip of his head. "Now, run along and pretend you were never here. Wouldn't want our dear frienjd the Inquisitor to find out about this little ordeal, would we?"

"You'll pay for this dwarf," the man warned, but Varric only chuckled.

"Hah, where haven't I heard that one before? Now, off you go."

Once the humans were out of sight and the crowd had dissipated into little more than wandering stragglers, Varric turned to Jaras and I with the same smirk but also with a tired sigh. "So, I see I've missed out on all the fun. Mind telling me what just happened?"

"Oh, the usual," I said as I lightly stroked the edge of my jaw. I winced, but it felt like a bruise and not anything damaging. "Arrogance. Stupidity. Both clash and end up with broken stools, icicles planted in the ceiling and a ruined tavern. Just the usual. Anything new with you?"

The dwarf gave a small chuckle. "Huh, seems I did miss all the fun. But I'm afraid I didn't come just to save your asses."

"I had him where I wanted him," said Jaras as he picked his swords from the floor and placed them carefully in the scabbards strapped to his waist's belt.

"Of course, because you looked like you had everything in control. My apologies for ruining it," said Varric sarcastically before he turned to me. "But, now that you mention it, I came here to bring you back. The expert Grumpy wanted is here and Chuckles isn't too pleased by the new arrival."

"The expert? Why? Did he find something?" I asked.

"Oh, he found something alright. Your magic thing, but it's not going well. You better see for yourself, that's if everything's in one piece by the time we get there."

I glanced around the tavern and shrugged. "It's better than staying here."

Daylight was the first to hit our frames once we stepped outside. By the position of the sun, it must have been midday at least. We walked from the tavern to the busier areas of Skyhold and weaved our way through the marketplace's many traders, past the dazed-looking travelers that tried to gain their bearings from their long journey up the mountain, and past the men rolling barrels, kegs and hauling chests through the path. A set of wide stone steps led up from the end to the main doors of the Keep.

"Thanks for the help back there, lad," Jaras said as we stepped through. The dim light of the inside made him squint.

"Ah, don't mention it," Varric replied like it was something he had heard a hundred times. A quick tap of the back stopped him in his place, though.

"You know, I'd like a crossbow like that," Jaras said. I knew that look on his face all too well.

Varric must have noticed it too because he placed a protective hand over the crossbow before continuing to walk. "Bet you would, but let's not get carried away. Bianca here's one of a kind. Chances of you finding one like her is pretty much none."

"Shame."

"Hah, not really. You just stick with your swords and daggers."

It felt strange walking into the study room with tension so thick that it could be cut with a dagger. A single candle, hidden behind tomes and parchment and left against the edge of the table casted enough light to illuminate the faces around it. Deep shadows swallowed the furthest corners of the room and the tower above.

Stood at one end of the table was the apostate mage with his arms locked across his chest and a deadly glare fixed on the small height of hair that rested above the columns of books that caged it in. The mass of hair, surprisingly, grumbled and wavered from side to side and it was only when my companions and I moved closer to it that we realised that the hair was attached to a stocky body, concealed in mucky leather braces, chainmail that ended close to the ground and a thick belt that only just managed to hold the armour together. If pressed, I supposed it could have been a dwarf, but not one like Varric. That dwarf seemed dirtier in a way, like he had just come from a mine and the sooty tracks that followed him only seemed to prove my suspicions.

"This," Varric began hesitantly," is Dugan, the... rock specialist."

I didn't react right away. My attention was caught on the foul smell that rose from him that I was sure, if left long enough would draw flies like a bear to honey. Its dampness reminded me of wet fish, but there was also a mixture of fire wood and the musty smell of uncooked boar left raw for crows to eat. In fact, the low rustles of feathers from above made me wonder if I wasn't the only one that thought that.

Slowly, I turned my gaze from Dugan and let it land on Varric. From there, I just stared at him blankly. I hoped that what I witnessed was some trick of the Fade or that I had been knocked unconscious from the tavern brawl and that what I saw was some imaginative plot my mind had conjured up.

Varric's arms flew up. "Hey, don't give me that look. Grumpy wanted a rock specialist. He's the only one my contacts could find in such short notice and, to be honest, he's probably the best we're going to find."

Dugan moved from the table, though only slightly. The thick sideburns of the dwarf, half hidden under the brown, wooly beard, twitched as he mumbled incoherent nonsense with only syllables such as 'rock,' 'stone' and 'thing' rising from his rough and gravelly voice. The beads of his braids, strangled in the wiry wisps of lose hair, dangled from the corners of his mouth.

"I've gotta admit, even for a dwarf this guy's odd," Varric added.

I could only nod.

I noticed when Dugan's face came into view that there was a glass monocle pressed against the ridge of his plump nose and covered a white eye. The other eye was dark in colour but even that wasn't clear to see due to the bush he had for an eyebrow. He seemed intent in his stare as it never wavered. There was something cupped in his hands. It was something that glimmered in the light. It was the shard.

"This is stupid," I said. "What would a dwarf know of something that was elvhen made?"

"You're telling me. As you can see, Chuckles isn't taking it too lightly. Finds having him around to be, well, '_distracting' _was his word for it. Good luck. You're gonna need it."

It was true, Solas did not look in the best of moods. He seemed irritated by the dwarf at best.

"Maybe Dugan isn't that bad."

Something between amusement and doubt plucked at Varric's lips as he spoke, "Oh, you thought I meant him. No, I meant Chuckles. Doesn't seem to like Dugan rooting through his stuff and taking over this little project of his. As for the rest, well, you'll see soon enough."

"For the last time, it is not a rock! The Inquisitor was wrong. He has no way of possibly knowing what this artifact could be, so I suggest you hand it over so I can continue my research," Solas' voice rang from the table.

Dugan merely frowned and pulled the shard further from Solas' reach. "By the tits of my forefathers, don't get your ears in a twist, long ears. I'm busy."

Solas' glare hardened. "Busy doing what? You've been staring at the shard for the better half of an hour tapping it with that thing of yours."

"This thing is specially made for this type of job, long ears. Don't insult the tool."

"And am I supposed to apologise to an inanimate object?"

"You darn right you are!"

I wasn't sure how long they had both been arguing but Solas seemed to have been at his width's end. His fingers slipped down the contours of his face and halted when his palm reached his jaw. "For f- ugh. What did I do to deserve this? No matter. I can see that any word on my part will not sway you."

The dwarf merely grumbled and went back to studying the shard.

Solas' eyes narrowed at the sight of me and it wasn't long before he was beside Varric and I. "There you are. I've been wondering when you'd get here. Can you believe this? This dwarf knows nothing of what he's gotten himself into. When will the Inquisitor listen to reason? It's like he purposely ignores everything I say, and for what? To prove a point? I-" His gaze lowered to my chin and his frown changed, no longer one of frustration or anger but more of concern and confusion. "Are you alright?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Your mouth. It's bleeding."

On instinct, my fingertips reached for the corner of my lip. I looked down. At the sight of red, I quickly wiped the area with my sleeve. "It's nothing. There was a fight."

"A fight?"

"Blame Jaras over there. It's nothing to worry about."

His features softened but there was still concern there. "I see."

"Anyway," I said once I knew there was no more blood, "you were saying?"

Solas gently shook his head. "It does not matter. I'm just not sure what I'm going to do with him over there. He's stubborn natured, that's unquestionable and it makes things difficult. I doubt the Inquisitor will listen to reason anyway. He's too busy for that after all. It seems I may have to put up with our friend here, at least for the time being."

Despite the situation, I smiled. "It seems it might be worth making introductions."

Solas, too, smiled, but it was more out of surprise then happiness. "If you think it's worth it, be my guest."

I stepped nimbly to the side of the foreign dwarf but did not make my presence known straight away. Curious, I peered over the stack of books, only to focus on the peculiar arrangement of tools displayed out over the table. The papers had been swept to one side, so far that they were close to falling off the edge. A cloak draped over the chair Solas once sat in and that too had quickly gained the stench the dwarf seemed to bathe in.

"Now, let's see," Dugan began to mumble. He tapped the tip of the shard with a tool comparable to a tiny hammer and pressed his ear against it. His eyes closed. "Hmm. Slight ringing. No damage to the surface. Good shape. Hard, soft surface, no pockets..."

"What are you doing?" I asked.

The dwarf jumped back. "W-w-hat's going on? By my forefathers, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I'm sorry I-"

"Almost gave me a heart attack, you did."

"I'm sorry," I said again as the dwarf placed a heavy hand over his heart to try and steady his breathing. "I didn't think I was being too quiet."

"Bah, it doesn't matter. I'm just not used to all this quiet. No machinery. No noise. Just silence. It's unbearable." With a heavy breath, he slumped back into Solas' chair and rested his hand over his head, just above the brow. "You, uh, asked somethin'?"

"I asked what you were doing."

"Oh. What's it look like?" He threw his arms out to the table. "I study rocks."

Dugan must have noticed my confusion, because he elaborated. "What else do ya think a dwarf from Orzammar does? Pick flowers, write poetry and sing out about our love of the Stone to long ears like yourself? Maybe play fetch with nugs during our spare time frolicking through the Deep Roads? Hah! I bet you do! Blasted surface-dwellers with your sky and magic, and elves too!"

I frowned. "You've got something against my kind?"

"Now, now don't get like Baldie over there. It'd help if ya all didn't look the damned same. Makes things confusing, it does. Like seeing double."

I looked over my shoulder. "Solas, Jaras and I look nothing alike."

The dwarf pulled a face. "You need ya head sorted out then because you all look the same to me."

"Maybe this lad's spent too much time underground. Must've messed with his mind, or lack of it for that matter," said Jaras.

Dugan ignored the comment. "So, I'm guessin' you're the boy, right?"

I blinked. "Boy? I'm no boy."

He gestured for me to bring my head closer and squinted through his monocle. "You must be one ugly girl then, no offense, or maybe this eye-thing is finally broken, hmm."

A laugh came from behind and to no surprise, it was from Jaras. "I think this dwarf and I will get along just fine."

I quirked an eyebrow.

His smirk quickly fell. "I-I mean, he has a great sense of humour. He obviously knows you're a lass, Da'mi. Right, lad?"

Dugan did not reply. The monocle in his hand had already taken his concentration.

"Maybe not."

Just as the monocle was placed against the bridge of his nose, Dugan snapped his fingers. "Wait, wait a moment. You're the girl then, yeah? You're the long ear that's connected to this thing?"

I nodded.

"Heard you can throw magic around like some fancy mage or somethin'."

"That's part of it, yes," I said.

"Hmm. Fascinating." He looked back at the shard. "Wonder if I could do that, once I find out what type of rock this is."

"It isn't a rock, child of the stone," Solas said from behind.

The dwarf merely ignored him. "Look. If there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that I know stone. I'll be able to tell ya soon enough what this thing is and where it came from. I bet my father's pet nug's granddaughter I will, don't you fret. And if I don't, well, there's always ale round here, right? I was promised ale."

"That was your terms to coming here? Ale?" I asked in surprise.

The dwarf frowned. "Do I look stupid, girl? No, not just ale. I was promised rum too."

"Well that makes sense," said Varric.

"Look, give me a day," Dugan said as he stood up from the seat. "Two at most. If I don't find out anything about this rock by then, then you can have it back. The Inquisitor fella won't have to know. Truce?"

I eyed him warily for a moment. I supposed it couldn't hurt to allow him to see the shard. Solas hadn't found much out about it anyway, so having another person look at it might not have been so bad. Besides, the shard was useless to most. I doubted the dwarf would take it, especially when he wasn't sure what it was.

"Alright, Dugan. You have two days," I said.

The dwarf's face lit up like a torch at the sound of that and began to prepare his tools for... something. "Now that's what I like to here. Hey, if you're headin' to the tavern, mind getting me an ale or two? Scratch that. Make it three."

_By the Creators,_ I thought. _What had I done?_


	8. The Beginning of the Fold

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Eight: The Beginning of the Fold

"Hmm. I got it! I have come to a conclusion."

The rough voice of Dugan disturbed my sleep and it was only when I raised my head that I realised I had slept at the study table with a Fade book rested beneath my cheek.

Solas slowly blinked. The grasp of the Fade released him from slumber and allowed him back into the real world. With a drawn-out yawn, he brushed an arm behind his neck and winced from the seemingly uncomfortable position he had laid in. Jaras hadn't moved. His back remained pressed up against the wall and a low snore escaped his mouth.

"Well? Have you found anything out, Dugan?" I asked, leaned up and stretched my arms out.

Dugan's foot hit the table's edge. He let out a loud curse that quickly spread throughout the room, grunted and then rubbed his ankle. Despite himself, a wide and toothy grin had spread wide across his features. After clearing his throat, Dugan straightened his back and raised his head. "It's not a rock."

Solas groaned and slouched even more in his seat. His fingers straightened and touched into the form of a steeple beneath his lower lip. "Brilliant deduction master dwarf. Care to share any other brilliant ideas you have about its origin, or are you contempt to leave it as that?"

"Hang on a moment, long ears," the dwarf said, squinted into the monocle and stared at the shard more closely. "It could be a type of metal. Hmm maybe even glass."

"You're serious? Metal? Glass?" Solas let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face. "I do believe the world has gone mad, or perhaps I am still in the Fade. I deeply hope it is the Fade."

I sighed. It wasn't the dwarf's fault. Not even Solas could figure out exactly what the shard was even though he gave it his best. Of course, I knew more than I wanted to admit, but truthfully I only wanted a cure; a way to be rid of the thing before worse things happened to me.

Dugan raised his hands. "Now, now, before you go and start sayin' stuff, let me say somethin'. This thing, whatever it is, sings."

Solas frowned. "What do you mean, child of the stone?"

"Now, this may sound mad, and that might be due to the ale and what not, but I heard, well know this sort of thing. Lyrium sings, but it's faint, or so I've heard from this strange guy with a big nose that looked all ghostly, hmm maybe he wasn't a guy at all, but yes, and, to be honest, not many can hear it because... well, I've spent a long time with the stuff and... but this, this! This sings! Well, not sings but talks! I swears it. The stone, thing, is alive."

"Alive?" I whispered.

Solas moved up in his seat and hunched over with his fingers to his lips. "That might not be so unthinkable. It might explain the energy I sensed from it and the magical attachment both Lahris and the shard have."

"I don't understand," I said.

"Well think of it like this, if you were a living being trapped, what would you do? Latch onto the closest thing available. That thing being you. You're its anchor, I suppose- it's grip in the real world."

Despite the almost hilarity and madness of such a claim, it strangely made sense. When Solas cast his spell, a power controlled my actions, but it felt more than just control. I felt fear. I needed to protect it. But did that mean that something was trapped inside the shard and that I was connected to it somehow? The very idea of such a thing was nerving and, honestly, I didn't want to know.

The door opened with a clang and revealed the hastening strides of Cassandra. A stern expression pierced through her dark hair. Her scowl leered across us all but quirked when she saw me. "There you are. I have been looking for you."

"Me? Why?" I asked.

"There is something we must discuss-" Her words faltered at the strange yet intense stare of the dwarf.

Dugan, having noticed that he had gained her attention, let out a low rumble, similar to clearing ones throat, pulled the belt that kept his chainmail together and strode over to the Seeker with a strange twinkle in his eye. "Why, hello there human. Never seen you before. Believe me, I'd notice." Dugan winked.

Cassandra's face fell into one of disgust. "Ugh. Is there a reason for him to be here?"

"He's the specialist the Inquisitor wanted," said Solas.

"And has he found anything useful?"

The dwarf smirked. "Oh, I've found several things I assure you, and maybe some others if you're willing to help, if you catch my drift. I say, if the women in Orzammar were half as tall and gor-geous as you, I doubt I'd have ever left."

Cassandra blinked. I tried to hold back a smile. The look on her face, eyes wide and mouth hung like a noose was enough to lift anyone's spirits. As if trying to forget what just happened, the Seeker turned her back to the dwarf and motioned to me. "You, elf. You're to come with me. Immediately."

I frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"I'll explain on the way. Solas, you may want to come as well. This may interest you."

The Seeker's form disappeared. I looked back at Jaras. He was still asleep. The appearance of the Seeker hadn't even disturbed him.

"Jaras?" I poked his arm.

He groaned and cursed in between snores.

I pushed his shoulder, this time harder, and with a snort, he lifted his head. "What?"

"Come on. Get up, and take the shard with you."

An arm swatted me away but, after a brief silence, Jaras sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

Cassandra waited for us outside. As the door was shut behind us, the quite mumble of "Alright then, I'll just be here," echoed through the crack. It was strange how Cassandra hadn't asked for Dugan and wanted me instead. I was a guest in their Inquisition of course, or perhaps prisoner was a better term for it, but I was not one of importance and not a person they should have been too concerned with. That was why the specialist was there, or at least I thought it was.

Solas moved closer. "What's this about Seeker?" he asked. We passed through the Keep rather quickly and down the front steps to the marketplace.

Cassandra halted by the stall closest to the tavern and pointed to the stable in the distance. "Gather your supplies and meet me there. Bring enough for at least a day's ride and back. We will be gone long."

I held my hand out to prevent her moving. "Wait a moment. What's going on?"

"I will tell you once you gather your things. Now go, we're missing daylight," she said before she shoved my shoulder back and headed to the stables.

Surprised, I looked back at Solas and Jaras who both held expressions that were either blank or curious.

"Do you have any idea what's happening?" I asked the apostate mage.

Solas merely shrugged. "I'm not sure, but it might be wise to pack. Whatever the Seeker wants, it's bound to be of some importance."

"I don't like this," said Jaras.

Solas nodded. "I don't think we have much choice, friend."

It was not long before I appeared in my room in the tavern. The room wasn't as big as the other rooms I had seen, but it was free and had what an elvhen mage needed to live off, such as a bed, desk and chest close to the back wall and away from the boarded window. Only a few rays of light could pierce through during the day and even less light during the night but it was enough to see.

It was a mystery what the Seeker had planned, but from the overall look of it and from what was indicated, it wasn't good. Fingers hastily swept through the rusted chest and placed only the necessities into my satchel, such as food wrapped in leather bindings, several wine skins full of water, a tome or two that I had 'accidentally' taken from the study room and a dagger Jaras' clan had once gave me, engraved on the hilt's side with my name displayed in elvhen and a carved image of a halla and tree. The Dalish believed so heavily in their animals and creators. Sometimes it was endearing, other times it was disappointing. For all the knowledge they had collected over the centuries, so much was lost to them. Sometimes I wondered if it was for the best. I doubted if they knew the truth about their people, about our people, that they would still feel the same.

An hour had passed and daylight had set over the distant mountains of the horizon. Clouds had begun to turn into darker shades of grey, pink and orange and the air was thin and cold.

The stable was poor compared to other human cities - crafted with timbers of dark wood and oak and held together with rusty nails with fine strands of straw and hay in the thick cracks, especially in the thick, rotten beams that seeped dust with every footstep from above. A torch was the only light in the mostly enclosed area, yet left a dim and dusky setting for the evening. In one of the smaller stables was my horse, Assan, named after the arrow-shaped crest that ran down the length of his nose, only to pause at the tip of his muzzle. From there, it continued in a curve down his throat, only to end in a point on his chest.

As I fastened the leather saddle and tugged Assan out by the reign, I caught a glimpse of the horses already out of the stable, clasped in sheets of steel plating tied to the chest, head and back. The plating was so tight that any movement on the horse's part sent a shatter through the air. Those horses were bred for one purpose and one purpose only: battle.

Solas looked to the inner of the stable and, with a light pat on his mount's mane, walked over. His nimble fingers caught the last strap of the saddle and helped to buckle it so that Assan was ready to ride. "Are you ready to depart?"

"Ven [to go]? Yes, I am," I said and guided Assan out to the center of the marketplace. "Still have no idea what will happen?"

"None, but knowing the Seeker, it will be something you can help with, providing that you want to, that is."

"That depends on what she wants me to do," I said and motioned for Assan to halt. I pulled at the saddle one more time before throwing a leg over the back. It felt good to be able to ride again without having to stay within Skyhold. The fortress, though safe and somewhat comforting was also a cage and, until then, I had not been permitted to leave. I could sense that Assan could not wait to leave either as his hooves had already begun to scratch the stone in excitement.

It did not take long for Jaras to gain control of his horse, though his horse was known for its unpredictable temperament. He had gained her from a village not too far from Skyhold but was never told of her unusual behaviour until one day she spotted a hare in the neighbouring field and began to buck and thrash around until Jaras was thrown off and had to run after her. I smiled at the memory.

Cassandra passed Asssan on her way to the front gate. Her horse trotted close behind. "I see you are ready to go."

"Where are we going?" I asked and stirred Assan in that direction.

"The Hinterlands."

"Is that far?"

"Not as far as other places, but quite. It's enough to require horses." With a grunt, Cassandra hoisted herself onto her mount and guided the horse around in a complete circle before checking the horse for the move. "Are you sure you have everything you will need? There will be no turning back."

"Yes," I said. "Let's go."

...

Days felt like years on horseback and yet I relished the freedom the clean air and open land brought. The first stretches of pale snow had receded long ago and the far horizons of hills and grassland were riled with the flora and fauna of the Hinterlands. The sight of the wildlife, of nature, with no barriers only made the freedom more sweet and real. There were many temptations, many thoughts on just galloping away from the group and allowing the wind to take me in any direction, to have the choice to escape the troubles of the world. Yet those fleeting thoughts quickly vanished to the back of my mind and the reality of where I was and what responsibilities I had slowly became clear as the first rays of dawn approached.

The path we travelled was lined with red dirt splotched with patches of brown grass and drying mud. Beyond the dirt were the trodden and sagging stalks of the cornfields rarely seen to be maintained by a farmer or his wife. The cornfields bordered either side of the path and were spread far and wide.

"You seem to be relishing the time you have away from Skyhold," the elvhen apostate claimed rather boldly from my side. He reared his horse so that our mounts were at equal stride and only a width a part.

"Skyhold has its benefits, but I miss this." I gestured to the land with an outstretched hand. "I feel more comfortable out here than in a crowded fortress."

Despite the distractions of the environment, it was Solas' low chuckle that kept my attention. It wasn't something that happened often: the elvhen mage confident and not recluse. "I can tell."

"You said you travelled quite a lot, Solas."

"Did I?"

"Yes, you did. You said you had to travel in order to see new places in the Fade."

"Oh, yes. And what about this interests you so?"

"Well aren't you pleased to be out here away from Skyhold?"

Solas took a moment to look around, first at the path and the rocky walls that followed it and then to the far away mountains, before he made his decision. "It is nice to have a change of scenery as well as other things."

I smiled. One could take the elvhen away from nature, but one could not take nature away from the elvhen, or so the Dalish once claimed. That apostate may have liked to believe that all he cared for was the Fade and his books, but I was sure that there was more to him than met the eye.

"Dirth ma, tell me."

"Tell you what?" he asked.

I leaned further forward and gently patted Assan's mane. "About one of your adventures. There must be many."

Solas looked at me sceptically. "You really care to know, or is it sarcasm? It's hard to tell these days."

"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't curious. Dirth ma."

"Alright," he said. "Care to be more specific? I have had dreams of ancient ruins if that is of any interest. I have had experiences with spirits that are rarely known to those who do not dwell in the Fade often, like yourself, or maybe you'd care to hear of some of the memories themselves? They too can be quite fascinating."

I bit my lower lip in thought. "Ruins. I'd like to hear a story of elvhen ruins."

"Ruins? There are not many who would care to hear about those, or at least from the few people I speak to."

"Let me guess. Spirits are more interesting?"

"Indeed to most. Spirits are more unknown to them yet are also the most feared. Sating ones curiosity usually starts from there because it is a topic that is so widely common these days."

"That might be 'cause of the huge hole in the sky," muttered Jaras.

"Hush, Jaras," I said. "Elvhen ruins. I want to know about that."

Solas smiled and allowed his gaze to drift to the sky. "As you wish. In my travels, I came across an old ruin buried deep into the bowls of a mountain, so dark that not even the light of day could pierce through. As I delved further down, I found that the ruin itself was in fact a tower, left unguarded before the times of ancient Arlathan. The mountain over time had consumed most of the stone, leaving caved-in hallways and scarred statues with pieces missing, but surprisingly there were tunnels left untouched and free to wander. The tunnels led up to a large hall, patterned with a treasure-trove of lost knowledge and works of art Thedas has yet to rival. Sadly, the tomes of such knowledge had succumbed to dust and there was no way of restoring them, but through the Fade, it made little difference as I was able to watch instead of read. If one listened closely, you could still catch the whispers of thousand year old arguments left undecided, even if the owners of such whispers had perished long ago."

Unconsciously, I leaned further forward in my saddle and allowed Assan to take his turn in guiding the way. My gaze hadn't left Solas. "What happened? What did you find?"

His smile grew. "You would have to have been there to truly understand. Besides, some mysteries are better left secret, at least until their next telling."

I lowered my gaze. "Not fair."

"Indeed, but where is the excitement if everything is known?"

At Assan's stirring, I repositioned myself on the saddle and re-gripped his reigns. "That tale's... actually quite amazing, Solas."

The apostate blinked. His face went slack with surprise. "You think so? I must admit, I am surprised you think that."

"Don't be. You make an excellent story teller."

"Thank you. Perhaps I should share my experiences more often, if you still care to listen."

"You should. Real or not, your perspective on things like this is..."

"Interesting?"

"I was going to say unique, but yes, that too."

Jaras rolled his eyes. Solas frowned at the reaction. I on the other hand smirked and went back to concentrating on Assan and the path ahead.

"How much father are we from our destination, Seeker?" Solas asked.

Cassandra looked up from the map crumpled in her lap and then, with a confused scowl, turned to look in front at the sign post planted firmly in between two boulders and a patch of tall grass. The path between it had two possible ways to journey through and both were clear from trouble and wildlife. "We are not far now."

"What are we supposed to be doing anyway?" I asked. "Surely we're not out here for sight-seeing."

Cassandra gave a shallow nod. "One of our envoys was attacked during its journey to Skyhold. We are going to see what happened and, if we can, who's at fault."

Solas raised an eyebrow. "Attacked? How?"

"We are unsure. There were no wounded but many casualties. We only know about it because of its delay and from the reports the Inquisitor's soldiers have sent. We suspected rebel mages were at fault, but what benefit would that be to them now that they are allied with us?"

To my surprise, Solas' tone darkened and became as cold as a winter's blade. "Allied or imprisoned? If my memory serves me correctly Seeker, weren't the mages forced to join us?"

Cassandra's face became a set of hard lines and her glare struck Solas who equally glared back with no hesitance. "Yes, they were but it is for their own good, Solas."

"You conscripted mages?" I asked.

Solas took a deep breath, possibly to control his annoyance. "Yes, they did."

My fingers tightened around Assan's reign. "I'm a mage."

"Yes," Cassandra affirmed rather quickly. "We know."

"Then why am I not locked up?"

"Because for the moment you are useful to us and have not done anything to cause our aggression, yet. We are not templars and during this war we only have authority over the rebel mages under former Enchanter Fiona's service, not on their own. Fortunately for you none of our men sustained major injuries during your arrival to Skyhold. It was agreed upon that you did not intend for it to happen, so we are willing to let it go, for now. The guards still do not trust you, as don't the people, but at the moment, that is not our concern. It may interest you to know that a Dalish clan had vouched for you and their generosity was most persuasive."

I blinked. "A Dalish clan?"

"Yes, I believe they call themselves the Sahlin."

"In this moment," explained Solas.

I nodded. "Yes, that's what the name means, but what did they say?"

Cassandra reached down, took hold of a note from her satchel and handed it to me. "That they sent you to us in their hour of need and that any co-operation on our part would be greatly appreciated."

"I didn't know your people even cared for the Dalish." My fingers curled around the note protectively. Though slightly hesitant, I allowed my gaze to roam the curved writing. Despite not being familiar with human writing, the Keeper didn't do too badly.

"Some do. We do. Any help in our war is greatly appreciated no matter who it is from. Your clan's continued resources also help the Inquisition," said the Seeker.

I sighed and folded the paper in half before handing it back to her. "They're not my clan. They're Jaras', but they are good friends."

"They must think highly of you to contact a human organisation," said Solas.

"More than you know," I whispered and tapped my heels lightly against Assan's side to go faster.

"What did they offer you?" Jaras asked curiously. "Must have been something good if the Keeper bothered to use the clan's treasury which, let me tell you lads and lasses now, isn't often. I should know. I've tried to persuade the lad so many times that I've lost count."

"Herbs mostly, but sometimes potions and even weapons, though they are not as formidable as ours. Still, they can be bartered with in exchange for coin. Most Dalish we have come across are not as forthcoming as your own and do not have many supplies to simply give away," said Cassandra.

Unexpectedly, Jaras smiled. "Well there's not a lot you know about us, shemlen. We elves have that much gold hidden away in our aravels, you wouldn't even be able to imagine it."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "And how do you obtain such gold, elf?"

"By merely taking possessions that shemlen no longer want."

"Jaras!" I warned.

He merely shrugged."What? It's not stealing if the shemlen leave it out on a table or shelf or... in a chest..."

"For your own discretion, I will pretend I did not hear that," Cassandra muttered and then guided her horse further away from us.

I merely shook my head.

Jaras frowned in confusion. "What? It isn't like you haven't stolen in your lifetime."

"But I don't say it in front of the human, do I? Especially the human that can put me back in the prison cells if she wants," I whispered harshly.

Jaras' face went blank. "Oops."

After another hour or so the corn fields had disappeared; replaced by towering tree trunks, thick with red and brown leaves and long branches. Through the canopy, specks of light patterned the shaded overgrowth and the backs of our clothes. I could feel Assan occasionally snag his hind legs on an upturned root or half-buried stone, mainly due to the lack of riding he had through the woodlands in the last month and on ground that was not shrouded in snow.

The path led further through the forest and up over a hill. It was surprising that there were no bandit camps, nor any threats from the local wildlife. Usually paths were notorious for such situations and that was why Jaras and I mainly kept away from them and instead journeyed through the wilds itself. It was as if we had passed unnoticed through the Hinterlands and it was almost too quiet for comfort. Not even the birds sang and that was strange enough.

"Why is it so quiet around here?" I asked.

Cassandra was the first to reply. "Our men have laid claim to this part of the Hinterlands for quite some time. The bandits have all been either dealt with or scared off, so it's no surprise that we have run into no trouble."

"Good to know."

The Seeker's horse halted on the steady inline. She pointed outwards to the less-shaded area of the undergrowth where trees had yet to take root. "There. You can see the patrol from here. The scouts shouldn't be too far ahead. They've kept the incident safe for us to investigate."

I bit my lip. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Come on, Da'mi," said Jaras. "The quicker this is done, the quicker I can eat."

"You've ran out of food again, haven't you?"

"What can I say? Long travels make me hungry."

"You haven't even done anything-" I let out a heavy sigh and unhooked my leg from the saddle's stirrup. "Never mind."

With Assan's reign in hand, my companions and I ventured further through the woodland. The midday's wind teased at my hood until it was forced back. As the light of the clearing grew and the shadows dissipated into the furthest reaches, I caught the slight glance of dark patches. My feet stopped. A hand flew to my mouth. Assan stirred from behind.

In the centre of the clearing, surrounded by ash and red-painted puddles that reflected the sun's light were grim and motionless figures that lay stretched up upon burnt grass and dirt with vacant, sightless eyes that stared above and into the void.

"What... is that?" Jaras' voice was the first to break the silence, but was barely above a whisper.

"I'm afraid that these may be the men we were supposed to find," Solas said grimly.

Cassandra was the first into the clearing, followed by Solas, Jaras and then, after a brief silence, me. The men seemed to have been dead for maybe a couple of days, but the burnt flesh and scorched ground more than told of what happened.

The Seeker watched the bodies carefully. Each face she saw, each set of emotionless eyes and blood-stained mouths seemed to be placed to memory so she would not forget. Her stern expression seemed to soften after each body was passed and the hold on her fists only tightened. "By the Maker, these poor men," she whispered. "They did not deserve such a fate."

Solas let his mount's reigns go and crouched over the ground, close to one of the fallen men. "They've been moved. They didn't die in this arrangement, but why? What purpose did moving them serve?"

"I think I know why, lad," said Jaras and pointed to the patch of burnt grass in-between the circle of bodies. Fine trails of smoke lifted into the air, but the black patches on the dirt seemed to have been burnt into it on purpose.

"What is that?" asked the Seeker.

Solas touched the dirt with his fingers before he took a step back. "A message."

Cassandra frowned. "A message? But I cannot read it."

"It's elvish," I whispered. "It's... elvish."

"Elvish? And what does it say exactly?"

My gaze gently travelled across the letters. The words imbedded themselves into my mind and seemed to come to life. As the meaning sunk in, I was too terrified to raise my head.

_'__Shemlen, ar'din nuvenin na'din. Ar __nuvenin __ma asha, ma len, na falon, na harellan. Na falon vhen ar. Halani ar. Sahlin emma ma harellan. Lahris, tu na vir. Garas, ma len. Din, na'din tu na falon'lin emma mi._

_Na shiral sahlin. Ma halam. Emma shem'nan.'_

"Lahris?"

That wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.

"What does it say?" the Seeker asked again.

Solas looked like he was going to translate, but before he did I held my hand out and shook my head. "N-no, I will say it. It says, 'Human, I do not want to kill you. I want my woman, my child, your friend, your trickster. Your friend belongs to me. Help me. In this moment, I am in need of my trickster. Lahris, make your path. Come, my child. Don't, you will see your friend's blood on my blade. Your journey ends now. You are finished. My revenge is swift.'

That message could only belong to one person, a person that none other knew but me. He wasn't supposed to find me. I warned the Inquisition what would happen if they held me and because of that message it was too late.

"But who could it belong to?" asked Solas.

I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Varhel. It is Varhel... my master."


	9. An Old Past Coming Undone

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Nine: An Old Past Coming Undone

"And who is Varhel?" Solas' voice cut through the thoughts of my mind as swift and precise as a silver blade, so clean that my mind went from complete panic and uncertainty to an empty void. Nothing passed through. All I could do was stare at him and not dare to utter a word.

He had heard me mention his name. Solas' companion, the Seeker and even Jaras had heard, but Jaras' unexpected silence was not due to fear or shock, but knowing. My master had been tracking us, that we knew, but to know that it was so soon was still frightening and sent my hand shaking to my scarred arm. It burned, but not physically. The burn was more of a memory, a light touch from an exposed flame, but had the sharp stab that fire's touch brought.

"The guy looking for us," said Jaras. With a firm cross of his arms he stepped from the circle of bodies, away from the traces of smoke that still lifted into the air and over to me. His arm found my shoulder and he brought my head to his chest. I rested my head under his neck and closed my eyes. "Told you he was a force to be reckoned with. Now you know."

"And who is this man?" asked the Seeker.

"Elf."

"Elf?"

I felt Jaras' head move slightly. A nod. "Aye. He's an elf, like me, like Da'mi and like your friend over there. You know, the ears pretty much give us away-"

"I know what an elf is."

Jaras coughed, but it was more of a deep-throated chuckle. "Just checkin'. But, anyway, truth is we know he's been hunting us for years and wants what Da'mi has."

Solas took another glance at the message clearly engraved into the ground and then looked back. He tapped the edge of his staff with thin fingertips and pursed his lips. "He wants the shard?"

"And power. Power's pretty much at the top of the list when it comes to him."

I lifted my head and slowly slipped from Jaras' hold. He cast me a weary lopsided grin, one he always used to ask, 'are you alright?' before he let me go completely. The burning of my arms had ceased, at least momentarily, and, after a heavy breath, allowed my nerves to drain away. I looked back at Cassandra who met my stare in return. "We told you he's dangerous and he won't stop until he's gotten what he wants."

"We had no choice, Da'mi. You were dying and we needed help. Inquisition was our only hope. Should be grateful they even took us," said Jaras.

"I am grateful," I said. "But I thought that with such forces he wouldn't dare trouble us, at least for a good while so we could gain our strength, maybe find out what happened to me and then leave. I... I didn't think it would be so soon."

"You talk about this Varhel as if he is a threat we should be wary of," said Solas.

I lowered my gaze to the charcoal patch of dead grass beneath my boot. "You have no idea."

Jaras sighed. "Remember the shard Da'mi had, lad? Remember we told you that wasn't the only piece? Well Varhel, he has the other, or maybe more than one. We don't know. But let me tell you now, he knows more about those things then we do and I bet you now he knows how to control them. What you saw when we first arrived was but a small bit of what you could expect from him. He's dangerous, lad, and he won't stop until he gets what he wants."

It was a while before either the Seeker or apostate mage spoke. Despite herself, I noticed the spark of and barely suppressed fear in the Seeker's eyes and the concern behind the thoughtful gaze of Solas. There was a tightness around Cassandra's mouth, and when she pinned her gaze once more on me, her voice was cold like the day I first met her in the prison cells. "I think it's time you started explaining yourself. Now."

I blinked. "Explain?"

"Who you are. Why you came to us. Where that shard of yours came from."

"And if I don't?"

Her voice became ice. "Then you no longer have our help. You leave Skyhold and never return."

I held my breath. The lower half of my bitten lip bled under the pressure. She couldn't do that. I needed the Inquisition, despite how little I trusted or respected the organisation. The Inquisition was not great, not by far. It was but a pale comparison to the organisations of old, of the politics and power long lost that the Seeker and her Inquisitor could only dream of and if I had any choice I would not have held them so closely, but without them, going back to the wilds of Fereldan would only have led to my discovery by my master and then most certainly death. I had to have them. I needed their assistance so much that if I had to beg I know I would have. My ancestors would have probably looked the other way, frowned upon the very notion and rolled in their graves, but there was no other alternative. There was no choice, but the humans could not know that, or the truth.

The staff was the first to break my thoughts once more as it hit the ground. Solas stepped out to Cassandra. "Seeker, please-"

A hand was raised. Solas fell quiet. "Enough, Solas. They brought this plague upon us. I will not be the fool that goes around in circles, chasing one's tail like some lost pup while she keeps us in the dark. I will not waste resources on a lost cause, especially resources that are needed to fight a greater threat. You know this."

"And throwing her out on her own? If what she says is true then she is already in enough trouble as it is. Our ignorance will only lead to worse consequences." Solas jerked his chin my way. "The power she holds, intentional or not, is power we cannot allow to be used against us. You were there when she unleashed such power in the courtyard, on the guards. Say we do allow her to leave and she is discovered. What will stop this Varhel from coming after the Inquisition when it is all over? When he thinks that he has already won?"

"We will find out when the time comes. I stand by my decision, Solas." Cassandra brought her gaze back to me." You, elf, either tell us the truth or this little charade of yours ends."

My shoulders gave in. There was no escaping it. "I can't tell you everything. Some things just can't be said, you have to understand, but I can tell you how we came across the shards and Varhel, if it makes it any easier or even gains your trust. I told you we're mercenaries." Jaras quirked an eyebrow at the story, but the others did not notice. "Varhel was a scholar who wanted protection when he went diving through an ancient elvhen ruin. Coin was good so we took the job. While we were in there, we saw... things. Found things. There was a room and there was a shard. I touched the shard and now here I am. There must have been more than one shard because the last time we saw Varhel it was at the village he burned down and he had with him a shard almost exactly like mine, but more powerful."

"And he burned this village because you were there?" asked Cassandra.

"He thought they were keeping us."

"He doesn't care about losses, don't you see, lass?" said Jaras. "You're nothing to him. Once he has his eyes set on something, he'll get it."

"You said an ancient elvhen ruin. If I show you the map, could you take us to it?" Solas asked.

I refused. I told him no and that some places were better of hidden and some memories left at the back of one's mind, not to be remembered. The look of recognition made me wonder if he knew that feeling well, if he had tried to forget but never accomplished it. The Seeker seemed to have believed my tale and asked if it was the truth. There was no better answer than yes. It was what she wanted after all. A story to end her fears. A story to believe. It did not matter if it was not true. They didn't need to know me and they most certainly were not going to find out.

"What do you plan to do now?" I asked the Seeker.

Cassandra looked calmly at her surroundings. After a few brief moments, she took her horses' reigns in hand and headed back to the path, close to the road. "I must inform the Inquisitor of this. From there, nothing is certain."

"And Jaras and I?"

"You will come with us. I may not trust you, but I believe your story. Whatever the Inquisitor may decide, it is important that this Varhel is brought to justice. These men did not die in vain, this I assure you." She brought a leather-cuffed leg over the saddle and brought her horse back. "You will continue your research with Solas. Maybe you can uncover something that might prove useful."

"I suppose that could work," I said and took hold of Assan by the reign. As my companions and I headed to the road, the thought of Varhel kept creeping into my mind. Thoughts upon thoughts rose and fell, but there was one sentence, one time that I could not forget, no matter how hard I wanted to.

_'You cannot run from me forever, ma_ _harellan_,_'_ Varhel had once said. His voice sent a shiver across my skin but I could not get it out of my mind. I let out a sigh and gently touched my forehead. The vallaslin, the blood writing on my face began to feel more of a curse than a burden. _'Remember who you belong to, ___harellan_. Remember where your true loyalties lie.'_

"You said master," Solas said from my side. His voice took on a hard edge. "You said Varhel was your master."

"And?"

"The way you speak of him. The term isn't used out of endearment, is it?"

"No. It isn't."

His eyes went narrow as he clutched the side of his cowl and pulled it further over his face. It was partly cast in shadow from the sun's rays that peeked through the small rifts of the canopy. His gaze did not meet mine but stayed on the path. "If you don't mind you asking, what are you to him?"

I hesitated for a moment but only because I truly didn't know the answer. I might have once been a witness and a nuisance, a person he did not want dead at first or had but thought it would be better to have me as a puppet under his rule, then I supposed I had become an accomplice, a trophy and perhaps even a loyal servant. It didn't matter though. That was a long time ago. "I'm a means to an end."

"An end?"

My feet stopped in the ground and I turned to face him. "I'm a mistake, Solas. Someone who should never have existed. Someone who didn't listen to him or follow his plan. I'm a mistake that, in his mind... has yet to die."


	10. Spirits

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Ten: Spirits

Whispers echoed from the higher halls of the Keep, muffled from the layers of ground and stone that separated us. Some of the noise, sharp barks of laughter and quick notes and strums of a lute crept through the old-hinged doors and into the long stretch of tunnel. Noblemen, I presumed.

The lower halls of the Keep were shadowy from the lack of light. It was around midnight when I took the first stairway down. Most of the servants had retired for the night while the guardsmen, from what I knew, were in the middle of exchanging posts when I left. Humans were so predictable.

At the feel of a sharp corner and curved stone, I turned aside and took some narrow steps that wound around and down deeper and deeper until I fumbled my way into pitch blackness. My hands touched the wall, rough, pricked and pocked and, with a hesitant step outward, began to walk, careful not to trip or cause unwanted attention. There may not have been anyone around but I didn't want to give my position away just in case. It took most of my time to free myself from the Keep's guard's gaze long enough to escape through a rarely used corridor. Ever since news had reached the Inquisitor about my old master, word had spread about the new threat the Inquisition faced quicker than either the Seeker or her advisors realised until it was too late. Some of the higher-ranked guardsmen and mercenaries brushed the thought off as just rumour and nonsense, something that didn't need to be paid mind to, but the lower-ranked members and noble families added to it, claiming that Varhel was in league with a threat called Corypheus, a threat that caused the Inquisition to be founded in the first place. I doubted it was true. If I knew anything about my old master, it was that he was arrogant in his power as well as stubborn. He didn't share.

Walls thinned and narrowed. The tips of my boots occasionally snagged on cracked stonework and loose panels. There was a reason the tunnel was barely used: it was a ruin. It was not long before the rough surface beneath my feet disappeared into a plot of grounded dust.

After another couple of brief moments I grew tired of the dark and blew into my hand. At the subtle nip of cold breath, a spark contracted and soon my palm enveloped in gold light.

Thick layers of algae, wet from the brown droplets of water spilled from the cracks, glowed in the faint light. Small black specks clutched snare-strings in the dense shadow, but when the light moved the specks disappeared into far corners while strands of webbing shimmered like meshed needles. Such old ruins, even ones that hadn't much historical significance fascinated me. The forgotten stories, the many secrets kept hushed for centuries at a time, the spur of ancient artifacts or engravings were what I craved. Knowledge left for those with keen minds to discover and yet, where but fragments of what were. How I would have loved to have seen Skyhold before the walls were built, before the foundations had been mounded into the depths of the mountain.

_Focus!_ My inner self reminded me. I had to remain focused. I could go into detail about the ruin later.

I remembered when the Seeker and her men dragged me passed the tunnel on the way to the Keep. I had passed the prison cell long ago and was close to my destination.

Eventually, through the passage, I emerged into a small enclosed area that split off into three other areas: one as another route back to the way I came, one to the outside courtyard and one with a sealed oak door. The last was what I came for.

With my spell-arm raised, I used my other to touch the cold handle. It was dry and stiff and creaked when forced down. Threads of webbing drifted down and, as the door opened, I felt the little warmth I had be forced away, sucked into the parting the door created with a hollow howl.

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lip, but I didn't let it show for more than a heartbeat. I had a job to do.

Gloomy light passed from my hand to the stacks of tomes folded into worn bookshelves. The air was decayed and smelt of worn books and century-old ink pots. It was almost familiar.

Tattered pages of lost lore swept underneath the trail of my sable-coat as my boots grazed the floor and tore a sharp sound through the small library.

"Vir'dirth," I whispered. A place of knowledge. I could only wonder what secrets each tome held. If only I could have stayed there.

One book stood out from the rest, sat heavily upon an old book case with a cracked leg. Curious, I brought the old arm chair over and perched on the edge. It was much larger than the others and seemed to have been read recently. On the thick leather cover, darkened with age and scarred with light markings, were light round patches. Fingerprints. There were no precious jewels or metals on the book's bind. It was simply designed, as plain as the others around it, a part from a distinct gold spiral frame. As I drew my hands over, a warmth, unfamiliar yet comforting resonated from the pages.

How odd.

I felt my pulse begin to quicken. The book was enchanted. _But who would enchant a book?_ I wondered. It must have been a mage, yet the magic felt old, as if the enchantment had been placed there centuries ago. Perhaps the enchantment once served a purpose but over the decades withered away into the small rift of magic I felt. It was a possibility.

Undeterred, my hands dove through the pages. As my gaze skimmed the text, I felt my heart sink a little. There didn't seem to have been anything of importance. It detailed the layout of Skyhold, the possibility that before its build it was reserved by the ancient elves and even about superstitious tales created by the previous human inhabitants. However, as I began to lose interest, a word caught my attention. It was on one of the last couple of pages.

Setheneran. It meant land of waking dreams or, more importantly, was an elvhen term used to name the Fade, or a place where the Veil was thin. How odd. Elvish wasn't supposed to be in a human book. Humans didn't know elvhen, at least not enough to translate and those that did were not in Skyhold. There was a possibility that the book belonged to one of the elvhen, but then again there was a whole text in elvhen that one of the people wouldn't be able to translate, unless he or she knew the language innately.

Ever more curious, I placed my finger on the page and began to follow the words. Most of the writing had been worn away or unreadable due to tea stains, but there was a few phrases I could make out. _'Power of the Waking Dream. Spirits and Purposes. Spirits and the Waking Dream. Artifacts and Spirits.' I paused. 'There have been many intentions to draw the raw power of spirits and pass such into a stable-enough vessel to be later used at the will of a higher spell-caster, yet such practices when tried in the past have never born fruit. Spirits remain attached to the realm of the waking dream and over time have been found to guide themselves back into their original world, less they stay and become disease-ridden abominations, corrupted and bound from their original purpose. Many have given up hope of such a possibility, but I have not. If there is a chance, perhaps communication is needed in order to receive promise results, such as a higher being? A divinity, perhaps? Perhaps more magic is needed or perhaps a vessel created solely for such a purpose. My findings are of no use as of now, but perhaps in the future my attempts may be more fulfilling.'_

I slipped the page over, only to find that the rest of the writing had faded. There was no mention of the author or more of his notes, but the thesis he had behind vessels and spirits was something that sounded familiar.

A quiet whisper caught the air. It was light, like the touch of a finger against the door or the slow, cautious step of a foot. I didn't make that sound which meant that I was not alone. Fenedhis lasa. Of all the times to have been found, it had to be then.

My back sunk lower in the seat and, ever so slowly, I turned my head back. The ray of my spell reflected upon a pale hand, cuffed in green fabric. It was close but halted a few feet away. The intruder knew I had seen him. With a held breath, my spell went out. Darkness took hold. I jumped from the seat. Like a deer caught in the hell of the hunt, I bound towards the doorway.

Something hard and firm reached out. It wound round my waist like rope, unrelenting in my struggle, and turned me so that I was close to the body.

"You'll regret this if you don't let me go!" I felt the surface of the intruder's tunic shift and stiffen as a spell formed in my hands. "Let me go, now!"

"There's no need for hostility, falon," a familiar voice said and, with one arm loosened, a ball of light flashed white in his palm and reflected off of the sharp features of the pale elvhen.

Relief flooded through me. "Solas?"

The apostate mage nodded.

I was about to thank the Creators it was him when a thought crossed my mind. My lips pursed. "What are you doing here?"

The strength of his arms lessened and, gently, he allowed his arms to fall from my waist. "Strange, I was about to ask you the same question."

Hesitant, I took a step back. "It's a bit late for someone to be awake, especially someone who seems to prefer the Fade to being awake. Besides, I didn't know you knew about this place."

"The way you ask such questions makes me wonder if I'm under interrogation."

"I'm just being curious."

"Yes, perhaps, but I could also ask the same for you. What would you be doing in a part of Skyhold that only few know about, hmm?"

"You answer first."

Solas gestured to the tome rested on the ground. He bent down and wiped the dust from the cover. "I had come to return this. I had just finished reading it and thought it would be best to return it now then in the morning."

"Oh."

With a particular place in mind, the apostate mage fumbled through the book shelves and then slipped the tome into the collection of others. "I'm not as full of mystery as you think, lethallan."

Despite myself, I smirked. "Of course you're not."

His hand dropped from the book shelf, only to pause at the book on the table. The air fell quiet and he turned the last page over to the elvhen text. "So, are you going to explain what brought you here?"

"I... heard about the Vault library and had to see it for myself. I had to come now though. The guards wouldn't have let me go during the day. I swear they're like hawks. They know my every move."

"Ah," he said in understanding. "A feeling I know well."

"Do they give you odd looks too?"

"Not so much now. At the beginning, when I arrived in Haven they were not too kind. Tolerant is probably a better word to describe their reaction to me." He tilted his head to the book. "You have read this too?"

"About the spirits? Yes."

"I'm surprised you were able to read it. Not many know the language of the people well enough to be able to translate it. I doubt even the Dalish could do it."

My fingers twitched, but I managed to cover the reaction with a gentle shrug. "What can I say? I love elvhen history and know a few things."

The apostate mage's gaze became thoughtful.

"Wait. If you read that, it must mean that you think that it has some connection to the shard, right?" I asked.

"It's a possibility. Nothing is certain. I have been looking into it though and I think I might have a way to know for sure."

"You're serious? But, what way? It isn't going to be like the last time, is it?"

His expression fell. "It might be. If you want to know what the shard really is, this might be the best chance. I could search for an alternative but I doubt the results would be as conclusive."

Thoughts of what happened after Solas first cast his spell upon the shard flickered like candlelight. The almost willing control the shard had over me, the thoughtless actions that were done from it and the sense of loss at the thought of it under threat made me wince. Even with an alternative, perhaps it would have been better to get whatever plan Solas had in mind over with. Whatever happened, at least there would be results and perhaps even an answer.

I replied through gritted teeth. "Let's just get this over with then before I change my mind."

Almost sensing my distress, the apostate gave me a reassuring smile. "I give you my word that it isn't as bad as it sounds."

With one foot out of the doorway, I let out a sigh. "You're not the first person to tell me that, Solas."

...

It was not long before we wound our way through the Keep's lower corridors, up a flank of stairways and into the study chamber. The room was quiet with the scribes and mages from above on the tower's balcony back in their beds or even in the local tavern. The crows themselves were even unusually quiet, hung in cages that occasionally swung and creaked.

In the hands of the apostate mage was the shard, cupped protectively in both palms. The hazy light of the table's candle reflected off it and gave it an almost violet hue.

The mage gave a cautious glance my way. "Are you ready, lethallan?"

"Just tell me again what is going to happen."

The apostate sighed. "I will simply cast a spell like I did before to see the effects it has on the shard. The spell I have in mind is one to locate spirits when in the Fade. I believe it will have the same effect on the shard if a spirit is indeed trapped inside."

"And what effect will that be exactly?" I asked.

"Well in the Fade a spirit either glows, showing its position, or communicates back."

"Communicates? How?"

"It is complicated. Just know that no harm is going to be dealt upon the shard so, theoretically, no harm should fall upon you."

I frowned at the 'theoretically' part but gave Solas permission to try his spell.

The mage cleared his throat and closed his eyes.

With his arms still, green power began to coalesce around the shard. The study chamber began to fill with an electric charge that pricked the skin and thrummed deep into the mind. The electricity sparked inside my chest, tingled through my veins and into my arm where it seemed to stay.

The shard continued to glow, only the glow changed from green to violet, a bright violet that against the orange sconces created a brown tint across our shadows.

The apostate smiled. "It seems I was correct. Come, have a look."

Despite my nervousness I found my feet moving forward, closer and closer to both him and the shard. It was strange. Inside his palms and through the violet light was a purer energy, almost like a gold orb that seemed to resonate and drift in circles. It was strangely beautiful.

Solas and I exchanged glances, but then his gaze caught my arm and stilled.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Your arm," he said after a slow inhale. "It's glowing."

I looked down and stilled. The black scars beneath my sleeve could be seen. The pattern was as bright as the shard against the grey fabric. It was strange. It didn't hurt, at least not at first. It was slightly hypnotic. The bright light almost seemed to put me into a trance, unable to hear or feel any other voices or presence but the light, and then my arm reached out to touch it and as my fingers pulled the sleeve back and touched the skin, my knees buckled.

"Lahris!"

Solas extended his arm and the spell went out, but the effect on me had not. I began to feel it, the burn. The jolts of pain began at the fingertips. It followed my veins up my arm and to my shoulder blade. My screams filled my ears but it was as if I was in a deep chasm unable to be heard. I felt as if my body would melt into the ground, the blast of heat so intense that I could have sworn if Solas' form was not beside me, lightly touching the arm and silently shouting out that I was alone in a burning building.

Purple sparks thrummed beneath the skin. It was going to happen just like before. I couldn't stop it. Not that time.

"Lahris? No!"

I lay there against the ground. The world span almost dizzily and yet, as I tried to move any muscle or limb, it didn't co-operate. My body was lifeless, dull and empty. My vision dimmed and I felt the last vestiges of life within me ebb away.


	11. Changed, But Not

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Eleven: Changed, But Not

I could smell a mingled odour of stale sweat, dust and damp wood. I lay upon something rough, still and solid that cracked and creaked in protest with every movement. My hands travelled down my sides and felt the rough material of a blanket. The edges were thin and coarse.

As I opened my eyes, I could only make out a blur of dark timber and high-gabled wall. Slowly, I turned my head in an attempt to see where I was. I was not in the study chamber, nor was I in the Keep. Instead, the place I was in looked to be an attic of some kind. Simple and mostly vacant a part from a well-crafted chair beside my bed, covered with vials, cloth and thread. Opposite that was a small windowsill with an even smaller pool of water that leaked from the ceiling cracks.

It was the light strum of a lute that pulled at my senses and reminded me of where I was. I was in my room in the tavern, yet the question was how I got there.

I sat up, only to be rewarded by a flash of pain across my arm and at the back of my skull. The length of my sleeve has been ripped in two and gave a great display at how much damage the scarring had caused. The strange symbolic pattern had grown further and reached out across my chest, curved and tangled like vines and roots.

"You are awake. They said you would be but not for some time."

I gasped and stiffened. My head span to the sight of the voice, only to slightly relax at the blonde-haired and pale human with the strange black hat perched on the wardrobe's edge. The boy sat there, one leg draped across his lap and the other lazily tapping the wardrobe's side. One arm was held across one knee while the other held him upright from behind.

"Cole?" I whispered and pulled the bed-cover further over myself. "What are you doing here?"

In one fluid motion, the boy swung himself from the wardrobe. His boots contacted the floor without a sound. "You were hurting. I felt it while you slept. They brought you here. They didn't think you'd wake for days, but you have."

My gaze flickered to the vials and cloth on the chair. There was no blood there but I could see that the wound, if it could be called that, had been partially bandaged up, obviously to no avail. It was probably pointless anyway. "They?"

Cole smiled a small smile that seemed innocent, and gestured to the door. "Solas was the first to bring you here, worried but relieved when the pain stopped. Jaras never left your side. He too was worried but it was a different kind of worry, one of loss, losing you. Cassandra was confused, scared at the sparks that flew from your arm, sparking and souring through the air. She doesn't know you, know what to expect. Her fear comes from the past, unknowing in what to do. It's not her fault."

Voices thundered from the doorway, but the rising tones suggested an argument rather than discussion. "Are they out there now?"

Cole nodded. "Yes. The Inquisitor isn't though. Left but may be back soon."

I sighed. "Then I suppose I might as well end their arguing and surprise them, or maybe I could escape out of the window?"

Possibly curious about the possibility, Cole glanced around the room and, when the arguing grew louder, stalked over to the boarded window and tried to pry it open. To no avail, he looked back over his shoulder with a confused and almost lost expression. "It won't open."

I let out another sigh. "I didn't mean- never mind, Cole."

My fingers twitched at the rising voices from outside. The tones became more frustrated, brasher and it only added to my curiosity. Then, almost suddenly, the door bolt rasped and the handle fell down. Cole seemed to vanish without a trace, much to my surprise. I had to learn how he did that.

A pale hand was the first to be seen through the doorway, followed by pale robes with fur skin tied around the edges. Solas continued past the bed, unaware of my presence and to the window. A hand rested above his brow and his eyes were heavy-lidded, lying over dark circles. With a heavy sigh, he looked my way, then back to the window before realisation caught up with him.

"You're awake," he stated as he brought himself closer to the bed. Relief eased the tension away from his face and allowed him to smile, though only briefly. "How are you faring, lethallan?"

In remembrance of the headache, I brought a hand back and winced. "I feel like I've been hit on the head with a staff and then drenched in ice water for an hour. What happened?"

Solas' hands were fast but gentle in the replacing of the vials before he pulled the chair closer and sat down, perched slightly over the edge. The tiredness behind his eyes had dulled, replaced along with the smile to a serious frown. "What do you remember?"

"I remember... light. It was bright and burning. The shard. It was glowing. I was glowing. And the scars-"

"I'm afraid they've grown since you fell unconscious," he said. "I have tried to stem the growth but nothing I have tried has worked. It is a mystery."

I chuckled despite myself. It only caused Solas' frown to deepen. "I'm guessing you've never seen anything like this before, huh?

"I'm afraid not."

"It's okay. It'll stop eventually."

Curious, he raised an eyebrow. "This has happened before?"

"Since I first touched the shard? Yes. In the beginning it was minor. Barely any scarring, but then it began to extend up my arm, following the veins and creating these curved symbols you see here." I pointed to part of detailed skin, covered in what seemed like black ink with no dark skin to be seen. "It seems to have travelled across my chest now. Great."

His gaze flickered to my shoulder, then down my arm, only to rest on my hand for a moment before it was returned. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It's cold like ice. When the burning stops it usually feels that way. It lets me know that it's done growing, at least for the meantime."

There was silence between us for a few moments. It was awkward with barely any words or gestures passed. There was something the apostate had on his mind, that I was sure of. His head remained bowed, fixed on the boots he wore and the wooden boards beneath them. "You must forgive me." His voice was but a whisper, but was not like his usual self - confident and prideful like his name meant. Instead, he sounded defeated. "I did not think that something like this would happen over a minor spell-"

I stifled a laugh which only got him to raise his head. "Of course you didn't, but you're not the first to try something like this in the hope of helping. The Sahlin's Keeper tried when we first met and that had the same results. Worse actually. This isn't that much of a shock."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What difference would it have made? I need answers, Solas. A little pain is worth it so long as I live through this. Besides, I just thought it'd take control over me again like last time. I didn't think it'd have the same effect the Keeper's spell had. It's strange to tell you the truth."

Solas nodded in agreement. "That it is."

"It doesn't matter. What matters is you're safe, Da'mi."

I looked across the room, only to find Jaras stood against the doorway's frame with a cocky grin plastered across his face.

I smiled.

After a quick clearing of his throat, Solas reached to the floor and handed over one of the vials. "Here, this may help your headache. It's a healing salve."

The thought to take the vial was tempting, but I shook my hands and eased the vial away. "Mas serannas, but no."

"No?"

"I'd rather not."

Though hesitant, Solas placed the vial back onto the ground and stood. "Alright, but I will keep it here in case you change your mind."

"I won't, but it's a nice thought."

Somehow, the thought of the vial reminded me of something and I quickly swung my legs over the bed's edge and searched between the vials for it. Unsuccessful, I looked up. "Where's the shard?"

It was the dwarf who answered and it was only then that I noticed that he had been behind Jaras the whole time and heard the entire conversation. "Right here," said Dugan with the shard clasped appraisingly in both hands. "No damage done to it but I don't see this glow long-ears was talking about."

"Yes, well, I don't think I will try that for some time," said Solas. "Perhaps you were right, lethallan. Studying might be better than experimenting, at least for the time being and you regain your health."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not dying, Solas. I'll be fine. Something must have been found from your spell anyway."

Solas nodded. "There was, though this may come as a bit of a shock to you."

"Shock? That doesn't sound good."

He gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, though I suppose it is not all bad. Our assumption about the shard casing a spirit is true, at least from what I understand of what happened."

"Oh."

"You saw the spirit inside the shard glow before you fainted, did you not? You also began to glow, suggesting an attachment to the spirit."

"What are you trying to say? That I'm connected to a spirit trapped in the shard?" I asked, though slightly regretted it.

"Precisely, and it may explain your frequent bursts of energy, like when you first came to us and just before you fainted. My guess is that the spirit is trying to get out, or maybe your connection to it is becoming stable and, as it is doing so, channels great rifts of energy to you but with no way of release. This is just a theory of course but it seems the most plausible one."

Hesitant, I looked down at my arm. "I don't know about that, Solas."

"Look, I'm fairly certain what I believe to be true. I have spent my entire life studying the Fade and the energy I sensed from within the shard and the effect it had on you is clear."

"Alright," I said and looked up. "Then how do we get the spirit out?"

"I don't think that will be possible. However long it has been in there, it has grown attached to you in a way that will be difficult to remove, maybe even impossible. The effect it has over you just proves this."

Jaras moved from the doorway and over to the bed where he sat next to me. "Da'mi, you were close to death by the time that damned thing let you go. You were as white as a halla and that's not to mention the fact that you stopped breathing on your way here."

"Yet she recovered remarkably quickly as well once she was left alone," Solas added. "It's surprising as well as interesting."

Jaras frowned. "I don't care how interesting it is, lad. I only want her safe."

I glanced between the two of them as they began to argue once more. I had to wonder if it was just those two outside that made all that noise earlier. "Era seranna ma? Excuse me? Solas, what are you saying? That I will turn into some spirit? That it will take over me?"

Solas was the first to reply. "Quite the opposite in fact. I believe that given proper time it will simply become a part of who you are and perhaps cease to exist, but only time will tell."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm not but it is the best chance you have. I will continue looking into the shard and see if maybe I can help in the process."

It was strange to think that what he proposed was true, but it seemed the most plausible explanation. The more time I spent in Skyhold, the more I found out, and the more I dreaded knowing more. "Alright. Mas serannas falon."

Solas nodded and, after realising that there was nothing more to talk about, moved towards the doorway. However, before he left, he turned back almost curiously. "Lahris, I wonder, have you met Cole?"

"That strange human who seems to follow me everywhere? Blonde hair, dull eyes, very pale and talks strangely?" I asked.

Solas nodded. "Yes, him. It may interest you to know that he is not a man at all, or at least not in the mental sense. Cole is a spirit, one of compassion, or was when he entered the physical world. Maybe talking to him will help ease your fears."

The blood inside of me ran cold. _Cole... was a spirit?_ That... did make sense once I thought over it, but I never thought that a spirit could be and act so human.

Jaras rose from the bed. "There's a spirit running around here? Unleashed? Is that even safe?"

Solas replied with a scowl. "He_ is_ safe. Cole would never hurt anyone intentionally, that is unless they hurt someone he cared for. You are safe with him, I assure you."

"You're certain that this spirit in the shard and I'm connected, aren't you Solas?" I asked.

Solas sighed. "In my eyes there is no other explanation. I have studied spirits for most of my life, Lahris, and I know one when I see it. Its intention hasn't been made clear but I believe that it is bound to you and is either trying to escape or is connecting to your body."

"Wonderful," I said with raised hands. "I was doomed from the start."

"Not at all. If this spirit does bind itself to you, then think of this as an experience. I doubt it will kill you and maybe you can learn from it, share its power."

I narrowed my eyes. "Something tells me that you can't wait to find out what will happen."

His scowl fell. "Not true. I will do everything I can to prevent anything happening to you."

"You better mean that, Solas."

With a short bow, the apostate mage left the room almost silently. Once he was gone and Jaras pushed Dugan out of the room with him, he turned back to me and reassumed his place on the bed.

"You alright, Da'mi? You scared me, you know."

"You know I didn't mean it. How long have I been out?"

"Two days," he said almost incredulously. "But it's two days too many. You're getting reckless. You need to be careful. I can't lose you, to the shemlen or spirit-thing."

"You're not going to, but you're kind of starting to scare me with the express of emotion. You're sure you're not the one who banged their head?"

A smirk rose across his face and he placed a heavy hand over his heart almost mockingly. "Ah, and to think I thought you'd see through my caring persona. Still though, Da'mi, you need to start being careful. No more experiments, you hear? Especially from that mage."

"You let me worry about that, but first help me up."

As I tried to stand, an arm was roped around Jaras' neck and he carefully helped me up. "Shouldn't you stay in bed?" he asked.

"I can't," I replied with a grunt as we moved towards the doorway.

"And why's that?"

"Because," I said, "I have a spirit to see and knowing him he could be anywhere in this damn fortress."


	12. Comforting Words Of A Spirit

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twelve: Comforting Words Of A Spirit

Ironic. That was what it was.

After searching the grounds of Skyhold, it took us a long time to realise that the spirit we searched for was actually where we had left, only a floor above.

Loud ramblings of the tavern patrons echoed through the walls and across wooden beams to the third floor. Tankards were raised, drinks were spilled and cards were swapped between players on tables. If Cole really was a spirit of compassion, a tavern was a strange place for him to be. Though, perhaps the alcohol helped when it came to helping others. There was no guarantee that the drunkards would remember him and, as always, a man's most darkest secrets could come to light from the bottom of a stained tankard.

"There he is," said Jaras from the edge of the stairway. "Damn lad. We've been looking for him for hours now."

"Least we found him," I said and took a step forward, paused and then looked back. "Just so you know, I think Cole is able to read minds."

Jaras smiled a smile that reached his eyes. It was a disbelieving smile, one he used when he was told something and only thought of it as a jest, not real. My arms folded together and the serious expression I tried to hold onto only made his smile inch lower and lower until only a slight curve of his lips remained. "You're serious?"

"Completely."

He stared at the boy, half-curious and half-shocked. Eventually, the grin returned with a slight twinkle in his eye and he reached back to rub the base of his neck. "This just keeps getting better and better, Da'mi. I've been wondering where that dwarf, Varric I think his name is, keeps coming up with ideas for his stories. I'm starting to get the feeling that there's no thinking involved with the people he hangs around with. I mean a boy who ends up being a spirit and now can read minds, and that's not the mention the hole in the sky? This is just getting too strange."

Nodding, I nudged his shoulder. "Stranger things have happened to us."

"To you, aye. To me? Not so much."

With a light laugh, we dared to get closer to the spirit. Parts of his demeanor began to imitate that of a spirit, or at least what I believed a spirit would do. His pale eyes, too pale to be alive almost seemed to haunt those they lay upon and the way his lips seemed to move with no real instruction or meaning was also different. Even how he moved, lighter on his feet like a thief or assassin with years of training, was not real in a physical sense and his acts of disappearing - a power only he seemed to possess, was something unique. It made him quiet, ghostly - able to drift between rooms and places without those alive knowing.

"She hurts, but helping hurts more. She sees the strings that pull me, eyes like raisins in a stale cookie," Cole whispered as he looked down over the banister. At Jaras clearing his throat, Cole's grip drifted away and he looked up from underneath his hat. "Yes?"

"Cole?" I muttered, unsure of quite what to say. "Um, Solas told me to talk to you. He said that you could help me."

His hat tipped left and kept part of his face hidden. "Help? Yes, I can, or at least I will try." He stepped forward to which I stepped back. "You are worried, afraid because you don't know. Solas told you something, told you what you are and thought I could help, mend the ties. There are questions, circling and twisting into knots. I have answers."

Jaras coughed and hastily rubbed the back of his ear. "This lad's crazier than a one-horned halla."

I raised my hand. "Hush, Jaras. Yes, I have questions."

"Then ask," Cole said simply.

Many different thoughts ran through my mind, all possible questions to answers I wanted but didn't need. "What am I? Is what Solas said true? Am I connected to a spirit?"

It only took a brief heartbeat for Cole to reply. "You're a mage. The Fade sticks to mages. Little figments, flittering, floating free, then forced into shapes. Fire, ice. lightening. You're like that, but different. The magic sticks more to you, like a bear to honey, strong and loud but sad. It disappears at times, then comes back. It's strange. You're strange."

"Sad?" I asked. "What makes it sad?"

"Magic is happy. It dances around fingertips, staffs and bodies, bending, molding and then bursting, but yours causes pain, pulls on the Fade happy at first but then changes, sparks out uncontrolled and with it screams, but no one hears. I was like that once. On the edge, lost, forgotten. Now, I'm me. I'm Cole. The magic will settle in the water, no more ripples. You will see."

"What do you mean you're you? As in a spirit of compassion?"

Cole looked to be at a loss for words. His lips parted and then closed, over and over until he came to a decision. "Yes. No. I was- am. Varric helped me, made me more here. More human. It's hard being human, but I can still help."

"So, you've always been a spirit?"

"Yes."

"Then we're different." I lowered my gaze. "A spirit isn't trying to possess you."

"The spirit isn't trying you to possess you, either."

I looked up, confused. "How... do you know?"

Cole's eyes sparkled at the sense of my hope, but it was fleeting. "When you fell into the Fade, fell unconscious, I was there, watching. The spirit spoke out. It was brief, quick but I felt its pain. It wants out but can't because the walls are too thick, the cage too tight. Cleverly locked, there is no escape but through you. It does not wish to possess, but to escape. You are its escape. Being you, but not you. It does not want to hurt, but to help. Without you, it stays locked. Hidden away, never to be heard."

"And what am I to do exactly?" I asked, and felt the anger betray what little control I had over my voice. "Let it take me?"

Both the spirit's hands were raised. "It will not take you. It will help you. Is trying to help you."

"How? How is it trying to help me?"

The spirit opened his mouth again, but no words were formed. His shoulders fell. "I... I don't know."

At the sight of his defeat, I leaned back against the banister and shook my head. It wasn't his fault. Truthfully, the thought of losing myself to something I barely knew anything about frightened me, and the thought of losing myself at all, my awareness, my control over my own body terrified me to no end. It sent shivers to the pit of my stomach and made me more and more ill the more I thought about it. "What if it doesn't want to help, Cole?" I asked quietly, only just able to hide the tremor in my voice. "What if don't stay me? What if I become the spirit locked inside?"

A hand was pressed against my shoulder, an all-too human gesture for a spirit and I could see then how much Varric had changed him for the better, even if I didn't know either of them well. It was comforting and in a way did help. "Solas won't let that happen. You will stay you! You will not change."

I allowed my shoulder to drop, but Cole's hand stayed there. "I don't understand. Why does Solas want to help me? I've done nothing to earn his trust."

"You are a mystery to him. Different but familiar, reminder of an old time, long ago. A spirit he once knew but gone now. You are a distraction, fleeting, daunting, but mind keeps focused. Won't remember. Forgets loss. Forgets pain. It helps him to focus. You help him."

That barely made any sense, apart from the fact that it seemed Solas had a past of his own. I was not one to judge, though. I looked up at Cole smiling despite myself. "You're strange, you know that?"

A mixture of confusion and satisfaction crossed the boy's face. "I don't know that."

I laughed as his hand was retracted and stepped over to Jaras who seemed amused by the whole ordeal. "Mas serannas, Cole. You've... helped me, a lot. It may not seem like it but I feel better. I'm just worried."

"It's not just the spirit that scares you."

I blinked. "What?"

"You hear his name in your sleep, thrashing, collapsing into a nightmare with his face and poisoned words whispered into your ears. _Remember who you belong to, harallen. Remember where your true loyalties lie."_

"Cole, don't-"

"He comes to kill you."

The tavern fell silent, or perhaps it was just me. The spirit went from helping my fear to guiding it to something else entirely. "I know."

Cole carried on. "He is the reason you're here. The reason you're scared to leave Skyhold's walls. You care about a cure but stay because of him." Cole paused when he realised what effect his words had. "I-"

"Cole, no more. Don't ever speak about him again."

The spirit nodded sadly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause more pain."

"It isn't-" I sighed. "Look, some things are better left forgotten. I don't want to be reminded of him. For the moment, I'm comfortable thinking he's out there and not in here."

"I understand."

Once I mimicked the gesture he did before in the hope that he would understand that he did help to an extent, I followed Jaras down the stairway and away from Cole's range of hearing. Once we were alone inside my room, Jaras moved to the door and slowly closed it. It took him a while before he turned. "Is what he said true, Da'mi? Is that lad really bothering you so much?"

"Yes." I had to admit it. Jaras was always the one person who could sniff out a lie. "Jaras, my old master killed to gain our attention."

"That isn't the first time he's done that."

"But he'll carry on. He'll find a way into Skyhold's walls and take us. He'll rip this fort apart just to try it."

Jaras drew himself closer. "Hey, if people die then it isn't our fault. He's the one going out there killing the Inquisiton's soldiers, not us."

My hands pulled away and I rested my body against the boarded window. "I don't care about their deaths. I only care about our survival. If Skyhold and the Inquisition won't hold him back, what will?"

"I don't know the answer to that, Da'mi, but worrying about it will achieve nothing. Come on. We'll go get a drink. Rest a while. Hear a story or two. Forget about him for now. You've been through enough. You're going through enough."

"It's not that easy, falon."

"May not be, but worrying about this shit ain't going to do much." He paused. "Maybe it's worth telling someone about us here."

My fingers twitched. "What? No. That's not an option."

"Not about you, but about Varhel. If we explain our situation, maybe we'd gain a few friends that can help us find somewhere new. Somewhere remote, away from here and as far away from Varhel as possible."

"We did that, remember? No. If the time comes, we will but for now we can't leave and we can't trust anyone."

"You seem to be trusting that mage quite a lot."

I frowned. "Solas? Only because he's my way of finding a cure."

Surprisingly, Jaras grinned widely. "Hah, yeah, sure, Da'mi."

"Jaras, what are you-?"

"I'm not up to anything," he said and took the chance to grab my arm and tug me to the door. "Come on, let's go get a drink. After today, I need one."


	13. Arrow

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Thirteen: Arrow

"So, let me get this straight. You enter my fortress seeking aid, injure over a handful of my men, use valuable time my researchers could be using doing something useful for the Inquisition and then, when I hear word that you are beginning to have a breakthrough, I find out that an envoy of mine was pillaged with all the guards murdered. Is all of this true, or is this some idiot's idea of a jest?" asked the Inquisitor as he paced from one end of the courtyard to the other, his cuffs clasped firmly behind his back and head held higher with every moment that passed like he owned the place, though I supposed he did.

I watched his movements carefully, especially the clenching and unclenching of his fists against his forehead when he went to brush stray strands of hair back. A nervous habit, I suspected. "It's true."

His boots halted in the thick of the dirt. "And what do you expect me to do now, hmm? Allow you to carry on your research? Have more lives end because of your staying here?"

"Is that all you came to talk about? Why have you really brought me here? Was it just to ramble on about things that have happened, or is there a reason?"

"I asked for you to come here alone because I am at a loss for what I can do," he admitted and let out a shaky breath. "You know about Corypheus, yes?"

"I have heard rumours. That you founded the Inquisition in the hope of ending him, and that he is the result of the tear in the sky."

"Oh, if only that were all of it." The Inquisitor resumed his pacing. The strides became longer and faster as he spoke. "He is our main goal, and you have brought a new threat, one that my organisation does not need."

"Then what are you going to do? Throw me to the wolves? Allow my old master to-" I swallowed thickly. "What are you going to do?"

The Inquisitor held his place once more. A hand brushed his chin while the other fell against his side. "Look, elf. I didn't come here to insult you. I've heard the report from Cassandra. You're a slave, aren't you?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Cassandra told me what you told her about this Varhel. Naming him as 'master' makes me wonder if you were a slave to him, and not some scholar you claimed him to be in the midst of delving through elf ruins."

I tried not to frown, but keeping a straight face or even keeping calm with that human was difficult. He was getting too personal for his own good. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh? Enlighten me. Did you mean 'master' as a mentor? A teacher? A man you used to serve willingly? Because the way you described him wasn't exactly pleasant or positive, which leads me to the conclusion that you've lied about who you are."

"What I am means nothing to you, _Inquisitor!"_ I spat the last word out like poison. The bitterness I held for what he dared to assume was made clear to him and all around, and without another word, I left him where he stood: by the training targets with a scowl etched firmly across his face. My feet moved on their own accord while my thoughts surged through the many appealing ways to set the human alight, though my knowledge of the fire element to magic was severely limited. A light of fire was something I could have tried, but it probably would have extinguished itself before it had even reached his chest. An ice spike to the gut would have done just fine, though. I almost ran to the stairway, uncaring of who had seen the outburst or of the Inquisitor himself.

Before my feet touched the stone slab, an arm yanked mine back and I was once again forced to face him. "On the contrary," the Inquisitor said with his lips surprisingly turned down and eyes lowered almost sadly. "It means a lot considering my decisions." He loosened his hold, but not completely.

"Don't pity me, human."

"It's not pity. At least not entirely. You should have said you were a slave. I wouldn't have been so harsh on you."

"I'm _not_ a slave." The Inquisitor stumbled back at the push. It was not supposed to be hard, but enough to get my message across. Without another look, I turned away. "What does it matter what I was? That part of my life is over. There's no use in bringing up dead memories that won't serve a purpose."

"It matters because for all this time I thought that you were here as an inconvenience - someone who set off some magical artifact and got herself into trouble. I didn't think you were actually running away from something, especially not slavery." His arm reached out for mine again, but it was gentler that time, almost like he was being careful not to come off as threatening. "I want you to know that I sympathize with you, not pity you. Slavery is an unkind evil and I know a friend who was forced into it, many a-year ago."

"And?"

"_And,_ I'm saying that maybe if you had mentioned it sooner, it would have further influenced my help, rather than you stalking around Skyhold like it's your own, acting mysterious." The Inquisitor's hand dropped.

"And I'm not mysterious now that you know?"

"Not now that I know that the man that's after you deserves his fate."

My fingers curled in on themselves. The fabric of my tunic went tight against my fist. "He deserves it alright. But I suppose the choice stands, doesn't it? What are you going to do, Inquisitor? He knows I'm here now. He isn't going to stop until your whole fortress is gone, burned down and left to dust."

As if cast by some spell, the Inquisitor's sympathizing nature disappeared and was replaced by the same side of himself that was at the Keep during my trial: arrogant and over-confident. "I highly doubt that. He may be a threat, but not one I can't handle."

"Then you really underestimate him." I laughed. "You really shouldn't."

"I'm trying to make peace with you here, el- Lahris. But you spitting it back in my face isn't going to help make things easier."

I stepped closer to him. He did not back away, but his gaze watched mine carefully, obviously unsure of what I would do. "You're only saying that because of what I was." Another step. "You don't really care." One more. "If you never knew what I was, what the Seeker had told you, would you really value me so much now, or would you have no trouble sending me out of Skyhold?" My face was inches from his, chin close to chin, but the close proximity was all that was needed to see the twitch of his lip, the crease in his forehead and the sweat on his brow.

Ah, there it was. The doubt. The lie. Shifty, was the Inquisitor. His honour and pride told one thing but his demons said another. Cole was right. He was in a war with himself: two warriors down to a tight rope. I had to wonder what it would take for that tight rope to snap.

"That's not the point."

"It is, Inquisitor. It is." I clapped my arms together and leaned back against the training target. "I came here for your help. I came here for this curse to be cured, and now I've come so far..."

"I never said you hadn't, elf."

"Then, again, why am I here?"

It seemed the true Inquisitor had come to light. "I can't have any more of my men killed because of you."

I tipped my head to the side. "Is it really your men, or is it the thought of losing power?"

"How dare you-"

"And if you let me go, only more will die. My old master will not let you go. Even with me gone, he'll still burn this place."

Surprisingly, the Inquisitor smirked. "You're acting as if I would accept his request."

"And won't you?"

"What kind of fool do you take me for, elf? I may be hard to get along with, that I know, but I have my pride. I will not willingly bargain with a slaver."

"So you say."

"So I mean!"

"It's not like you're not getting anything from this bargain anyway," I continued and turned to look at the sky. "My falon's clan is sending you support and this power I have, whatever it is, may help you in the long term. It may cost you some of your men but it isn't like you're not gaining anything back."

"That's not worth the amount of lives on the line."

"Your soldiers were going to be killed anyway, whether on your envoy or in another fight. You know that. That's why you have them."

The Inquisitor opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was a sigh and then a groan. He knew I was right. It wasn't that I didn't approve of his men's valiant sacrifice, but if Varhel didn't kill them, someone else would have. It was cruel, but their lives did not matter to me. All that mattered was survival and that meant having allies in Skyhold.

"I'll make you a deal," the Inquisitor said after some time. "Tell me everything you know about Varhel, your past - everything, and, if true, you'll be welcome to stay here. Lie and leave."

"You haven't exactly earned my favour," I said.

"And you don't have many options."

Fenedhis. It was argument after argument, lie upon lie. There was only so much those humans would have believed before it came to a blunt end. It was supposed to be easier. A way in Skyhold, find a cure and leave. That was the plan. It just had to get more complicated.

As I thought over what I was going to say in my defense, a light, small and quick like a shimmer shone from above the wall-line to the length of undergrowth behind it. There was a shadow close to the tree, one that was almost human and with it came a low creak. The shadow moved.

"Inquisitor!" I pushed the human out of the way. Both my arms were grabbed by him and together we fell to the ground.

Air whipped past my cheek and it was when I turned my head that I recognised the arrow tip lodged into the grass.

The Inquisitor looked at the arrow and then to the wall where the perpetrator locked another arrow in place. "Archers!"

Before the next arrow hit the ground, a blade of steel was drawn from the Inquisitor's sheath. His back collided into an archery target. There he brought his blade up and used the surface to spot the archer.

At the sight of the archer, I allowed the build-up of magic to fill my fingers and let loose a spike of ice that just missed the archer's leg. The archer went down, a growl escaped his lips, and with his bowstring pulled back, another arrow thrummed through the air, only to miss my chest by the wall of ice that surrounded my body.

"Elf!" the Inquisitor called. "Use your magic to distract him while I go up the stairway."

Nodding, I gently grazed my fingertips against the ice and leaned sideways. I was just able to see the dark shadow beneath the undergrowth. The air whipped past my face once more. Another arrow.

The Inquisitor didn't give any indication as to when he had decided to pursue his target. Instead, it was only when his form flew across the wall that I realised he had made his move. The shadow noticed. It moved sideways, then grew taller. Silver armour flashed against the sun's light and it was then that I noticed that the archer had his eyes set on the Inquisitor.

With a slow intake of breath, I rubbed my hands together and focused on the wall-line, just past the undergrowth. My head began to grow heavy as the air clouded and turned cold. Mist formed from the earth and meshed into specks of white that began to surround the archer until his arms had grown still and his feet stiff on the ground. I raised my hands. Great white sheets spiraled around the archer's legs until his boots could no longer be seen. He cried, a loud shriek, yet through the blizzard stood the Inquisitor. He staggered to the archer with arms clasped over his brow and his tunic's hem flapping against the strong pull of the wind. My hands moved accordingly, curving and weaving the white specks into waves that surrounded the archer, yet missed the Inquisitor. When the archer was in reach yet unable to defend, the Inquisitor's blade struck, quick and clean. The archer choked out, but the cry of the wind silenced him. The white specks disappeared, the trees settled and a body lay against the ground, stiff and lifeless.

On closer look, it was obvious what had happened. A hole punctured the archer's chest. A heart would have been noticeable through the rib cage if it had not been soaked in a large puddle of water and blood. The blood stained the white armour, clearly displayed under the tattered fabric of the archer's sable coat.

As I walked up the stairway to join the Inquisitor, I noticed that the archer looked familiar and that, with the pointed edges of his cowl, he was elvhen.

The tip of the Inquisitor's blade still clung to the red that covered its sides, but the Inquisitor didn't seem to care. He nudged the edge of the archer's cowl off and then tipped the side of his face. Kneeling, the Inquisitor scratched his chin. "I can't make out who this man is."

It only took one look at the pale face, pointed ears and armour to know who the archer was. "That bastard."

The Inquisitor looked up. "Excuse me?"

"He sent assassins. The bastard actually sent assassins."

"Who did?"

"Who do you think?"

I knelt down beside the Inquisitor and fumbled through the armour pockets. Damn it. Empty. "I think you better start worrying about Varhel being a threat, Inquisitor. If this one managed to get his way in here, it's only a matter of time before more come."

For the first time since I came to Skyhold, the Inquisitor actually seemed to be at a loss for words. The arrogant, over-confident nature of him had disappeared and the look of surprise was something that I truly didn't want to see again. After a long moment, the Inquisitor drew himself up and turned to look at the front gate. "Indeed."


	14. Murals and Tea

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Fourteen: Murals and Tea

Out of all the rooms in Skyhold Keep, the hall itself was the most impressive and disturbing. When the sun had fallen over the distant hill of the Frostback Mountains and left for the moon to rise over another frozen peak, the place showed its true nature and how old it really was. The hollow sound of clacking steps against a stone floor, the heavy clinking of steel plates, caused by a tower guard patrolling the second floor; the quiet howl of the wind through the narrow rifts in glass windows and the faded cry of a crow were but a few of the sounds that made the place unnerving. Yet, beyond the sounds, beyond the brass goblets left discarded on crooked tables, beyond the mended walls and frayed banners hung from iron ports, the place was but a ruin: dark, crumbling and broken. Skyhold was an old, old place and it was at night when it really showed its age without the secrecy or cloak the Inquisition pulled over it to try and make it theirs.

Deaths had occurred there, long before the Keep was built. It was a temple once, dedicated to Gods the humans could not even dream of. Tarasyl'an Te'las. The place where the sky was held back. The name curled off the tongue so easily, even in a whisper. I should have realised sooner what the place was. It was mentioned in so many tomes, spoken over and over again in the past. Varhel had been there once. He had seen the place before the humans had ever founded it. 'Solasan', he had called it. A prideful place. It was ironic, in a way. A place that was once revered by my old master was now a place of sanctuary - my only sanctuary.

Haunted whispers and vivid dreams were what had stayed my rest and led to my wandering. It was difficult to sleep at times and that night was one such night. Memories could be hidden or forgotten during the day, but at night there were little distractions and the Fade was where any memory could come alive.

My first choice had been to go to the vault library, but even after an hour of sorting through books and reading of Skyhold's history, it became difficult to keep my heavy eyes open long enough to actually continue. It was too quiet. I then supposed that going to the study was my best chance of ridding sleep. The tower was not lively but it also wasn't completely abandoned. And it was safe.

The creak of the door was sharper than expected. It cut through the silence and caused the rustling of dark feathers from above. Yet, as the door closed, the rustling ceased and the swing of iron cages ended.

There was a distinct smell of oil and damp wood within the room and a strong, almost pure smell that reminded me of paint. Cast on a once blank surface was yet another perfectly painted mural. Like the others, it took its place on a large strip of wall and was designed symbolically rather than realistically. A blend of brown and black colours cloaked a figure masked with a silver skull in a dark, almost foreboding light. Woven between his skeletal fingers was a gold orb, laid in line with a burning temple. Shadowed mountains surrounded the piece, as did a scaled sky.

I supposed the meaning behind it was left to the interpreter. If guessed, I would have said that the main figure was a form of death or chaos and that the burning temple was the conclusion of some sort of battle. Whatever the meaning was, the mural proved unnerving.

A page was scraped against its bind. The sound caused my spine to tingle. The cause was by a figure laid back in a tall chair. His legs crossed and chin lifted. Thoughtful eyes watched the painting carefully as it did me. Golden flecks flickered across his sharp cheekbones and forehead while the rest of his face lay hidden under the shadow of the thick, leather-bound cover of a book. "I did not think you would be up so late given the state you were in. It is good to see you back on your feet."

I took a sip from my cup. The taste was sweet and warm on the tongue. It was a welcomed relief from the coldness in the tower. "Worried, were you?"

Solas' eyes fell to his page. "How could I not be? I was the cause for what happened. If I had not been so brash in my actions, if I had thought over the consequences more carefully, then maybe none of it would have happened." Gently, the apostate looked up. "Still, it is good to see you well."

I shook my head. "I'm still here, aren't I? You helped, even if the spell caused some... changes." I gave him a small smile. "Don't be hard on yourself."

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid," the elvhen admitted and let out a heavy sigh.

It was obvious that the attack worried him. There may not have been dark circles under his eyes, that apostate could not lose sleep so easily, but they were red around the rim and his paleness told me that he clearly had things on his mind if he allowed himself to get so cold without even knowing it.

"Then you need to relax more."

He must have been amused, because he allowed the book to fold in his lap and leaned forward. "Oh? And how would you suppose I would do that? Reading is quite relaxing, as are journeys into the Fade."

"I meant something that we can do together-" Before I even realised the meaning of what I had said, it was too late. The last part of my voice seemed to echo off the walls and only made the room colder in the process.

The elvhen's eyebrows rose. The blue eyes underneath held mine steadily for a moment, piercing and enquiring. Surprisingly, the smirk remained. "Oh. I see."

I blinked. It was difficult to be sure whether the gleam in his eye was some sort of illusion, if the smirk was some form of a jest or if he was even serious in considering it. I half expected a refusal, or even being made to leave the room. For him to ignore the book in his lap and to gently rub the outline of his jaw in thought was something... unexpected.

"Nae! Ir abelas," I said and quickly pressed my forehead against my hands. Oh, how the Creators favored me for their torment. "I-I mean, you're the only person I've really connected to around here. Everyone else seems to want to either kill me or get me out of Skyhold by the quickest gateway. It's... nice, to have a friend."

"Ah." His smile fell, if only slightly. "I understand. Still, perhaps I may take you up on your offer sometime."

Unsure of how to react in such a situation, I gave him a small nod and returned to sipping my drink. "So," I began and tried to find some form of topic changer. "You painted the walls?"

Solas nodded.

"It's good." It was very good. The design of it was different compared to others, yet was similar to the older styled paintings in the few elvhen ruins I had seen. It made me wonder if that was where he got his inspiration from. "I didn't know you could paint."

"It is a skill I have picked up in my youth. Writings wither and fade and eventually succumb to age, but paintings I have found can last much longer if done correctly and can hold so much more."

"A noble sentiment, I suppose, but painting that must have taken a long time, and I haven't once seen you leave this place. Do you ever sleep?"

"I spend much of my time in the Fade," he said and allowed his gaze to drift back to his page. "But as for now, I'd prefer to read without the distractions of the mages above."

"I can relate to that." The mages during the day rarely kept their conversations silent, especially if there was an argument between enchanters. It was strangely nice to not hear them. After another sip from my cup, I picked up a tome from the table and took a quiet place on the floor. Tomes scattered the area, but there were a few places were room could be made.

Having noticed my attempt to move the books, the apostate cleared his throat. "You know, there are plenty of chairs to sit on, lethallan." He gestured with a tilt of his head to the larger ones at the back and near the stairway.

"That might be but I prefer the floor."

"If that is what you wish."

The tome in my possession was not as old as the others, yet was worn enough with scratches and torn pages to be one. After the flick of a few pages, the bind was creased into a suitable fold and my cup was picked back up. Just as the rim grazed my lower lip, several sniffs were directed my way and Solas drew his head back in disgust.

"Is that... tea?" he asked a brought a hand up to both hide his grimace and mask the smell. He waved his hand in an attempt to draw the smell away from his nose, but inevitably gave up.

I glanced down at the brown liquid. Steam rose slightly from the surface and the warmth was both settling and calming. Unsure of what exactly was wrong with it, I licked my lips and gently lowered it to my knee. "Yes. Got something against tea?"

His mouth tightened, and he shook his head. "It is tea. I detest the stuff."

My mouth fell open. "What? You're jesting, surely."

"I am not."

"How in Thedas can anyone hate tea-" That was when I realised. Solas spent the majority of his time in the Fade, which required sleep. No wonder he didn't have a taste for it considering it prevented that. Still, to think that anyone could have a strong feeling towards tea was something almost unthinkable.

"You're just not used to my kind of tea," I said and sat up straighter, ready to prove my point and to take on a challenge if needed be. "You'll change your mind once you've tried mine, I assure you."

He smiled, despite himself. "A quest doomed to fail I'm afraid."

"Your doubt will be your undoing. My tea making skills will put any tea you have to shame. It's inevitable." With the tea carefully positioned on the saucer, I began to move it to him.

The book on his lap almost fell when the apostate gingerly waved the cup back. "It will not be inevitable as I will not be drinking any."

The cup was pushed further toward him, but again was pushed back.

After the third time, I realised that there was no point and placed the tea back on the floor. "I'm sure a quick swap of drinks when you're not looking will change that."

"Oh? I see that I better watch my drinks then."

"You can try, but I doubt it will work."

Solas shook his head. "Ah, I have been meaning to ask you. Have you spoken with Cole?"

"I did a while ago. Ir abelas, for not coming here sooner. The Inquisitor and I had a very interesting discussion."

His expression became grim. "I heard."

"I wondered how long it'd take for word to spread."

"In Skyhold, news so seldom stays secret." He smirked, but it only lasted a heartbeat before it became thoughtful and serious. "You weren't injured, were you?"

"No. A scratch or two but that's nothing new. I'm just surprised that the archer came so quickly, especially when we only just got the message from my old master a few days ago."

"Indeed. You know, I have been wondering about that ruin you mentioned." The apostate gracefully rose from his seat, placed the book back in its original place and leaned against the table's edge. He looked thoughtful. "The one you found the shard in. I would like to venture there, if possible."

I swallowed thickly. "You're serious?"

"Yes. I believe it may help in figuring out how this all began, where this shard came from. It may not seem important now but it might be in the future."

Rubbing my temple, I sighed. "Solas-"

"It would be good for you to leave Skyhold for a while, I think," he said and folded his arms. "And, as for the attack that happened, surely taking some time away from here would be in your best interest? Your old master believes you to still be here, yes? If we were subtle in our leave, then surely he would not think differently."

"I'm sure the gates of Skyhold are all being watched-"

He waved his hand dismissively. "I have no doubt in that, but as I said, if we were subtle, perhaps if you were in disguise then you would not be in danger. Inquisition forces come and go from this place all the time, do they not? I'm sure two elvhen apostates leaving would cause suspicion, but if they were dressed as, say, the Spymaster's agents?"

It took a moment for what he suggested to sink in. It seemed the apostate was not as innocent and noble as others believed. He may just have been something else. How interesting. "You've really been thinking this through, haven't you?"

"Only because you have piqued my curiosity. I would very much like to see this ruin for myself, especially if it is elvhen in origin."

Despite his eagerness, he asked for something he knew barely anything about. That ruin was not only dangerous but was a place I barely escaped from. It was full of death. It was not a place an explorer would go to and not a place I ever wanted to go back to. I made a promise to myself I wouldn't. "I'm not going back there."

"Then you can mark it's location on my map and I will venture there alone. You need not come with me."

"You'll get lost. The forest it's in is dense and there are barely any paths there. You'd get lost, become some lonely animal's meal and the Inquisition would be without its Fade expert."

"I'll be cautious and I'm sure I can find a way."

Fenedhis lasa. The stubborn fool. "There might be traps, wildlife- bears, spiders..."

"Nothing I have not encountered before."

"Solas-"

"Lethallan-"

"You don't give up lightly, do you?"

"Not often, no."

There really was no way of persuading him otherwise. If lies, honesty or false truths didn't work, then I supposed pleading may have. It was the only other option there was. "Solas, you have no idea what happened there. I... don't want anyone knowing what happened there."

We stared gloomily at each other for a moment. His was more sympathetic while mine had turned from pleading to worried. At last, he said, "I understand. I know this must be hard for you. Still, I'm sure there's no harm in simply viewing this ruin. Come with me. If my going there bothers you so much, then you can lead. Be the guide. I shall only follow and go where you wish me to go. That way, anything you do not wish me to see will not be seen. Your secrets, past, whatever there is, will stay hidden."

It was tempting. Very tempting. I looked at him warily. "And you would do that, just like that?"

"Have I given you reason to doubt?" he asked.

"No. Not yet."

Truthfully, the ruin worried me, but what worried me more was how dependant and trusting I had become of the apostate in such a short amount of time. I was so tempted to accept his proposal, as if I could actually trust him.

Part of myself, the survivor within me screamed to leave, to refuse the elvhen with a laugh and to escape before things became complicated, even serious. Another, more rational side told me that I needed him. He was the reason why I was still in Skyhold. He was the key to finding out about the shard and the spirit inside. He was the key to be free. A smaller part of that wanted trust, wanted someone other than Jaras to be a companion. He was so different.

A quick flash brought me from my thoughts. Solas stood from the table. His lip curved upward and an outstretched hand gestured to the doorway. "What do you say, lethallan?" he asked. "Mind accompanying me on a journey to..."

"Ferelden," I answered.

He nodded. "Ferelden."

"Eastern Ferelden to be more precise."

He quirked an eyebrow. "I had not realised you had come such a long way."

"Yes, well, when shall we be off?"

He lowered his hand. "That is up to you."

"Allow me to gather my things. We can leave in a few hours."

"Excellent."

As the apostate turned to his table, a thought came to mind. "Solas, how did you plan on gathering the agent's clothing?"

"Ah," he said and rested his arms on the table's edge, "allow me to worry about that."

"Alright, though I am slightly curious as to how you're going to do that. Oh, and one more thing. There's a Dalish clan, the Sahlin clan, close to the ruin. If we're going there, then we might as well stay at the camp."

Solas frowned. "Dalish? Hmm."

"You have met the Dalish?"

"On occasion," he muttered. "I have crossed paths with them from time to time but they did not care for what I had to tell them."

"I admit, the Sahlin clan is wary of strangers, though I'm sure they'll warm up to you eventually, or at least I'm sure the Keeper will. He's always willing to learn more about elvhen history, so anything you can teach him will be appreciated."

Solas did not look persuaded. "Huh. I'm sure the Dalish would rather hear their own version of the truth than mine, lethallan," he said. "Still, the thought is appreciated."

"As I said before, Solas, your doubt will be your undoing."

"Hah. Quite. Still, we shall see."

...

Both Solas and I were at the stables an hour before dawn, a time when the world was still and grey. Neither the guards nor the early risers noticed our presence in the early morning's mist. Not even the soft whining of the horses drew notice and we were able to prepare for the journey in haste.

The apostate had warned that once we were gone, the Inquisition was bound to notice and send agents. Even with a letter stating we would not be gone long, he doubted the Inquisitor would have cared enough to read it and would have sent people searching for us anyway. Solas was strangely calm about it though, as if it had not been his first time doing something in secret.

As promised, an agent's uniform had been neatly placed on the handle outside my room. The tight grey tunic was a strange fit, not something I would usually wear, but it covered any noticeable skin and markings and, accompanied with a pale hood, allowed me to blend in with any of the other Inquisition agents.

The uniform was a risk. The plan was more of a risk. Outside of Skyhold's bounds with only the two of us we were easy targets. It only took one of my old master's informants to know about us and then we would be taken away, likely never to be heard from again.

_There's still time to change your mind,_ I thought. Yet, I couldn't. The risk had already been taken. It was time to see it through, no matter what the consequence.

"It seems we will have company on this journey," Solas said. His breath steamed with every word. He tipped his head in the direction of four distinctly defined shadows that stepped through the stable's doors and into the dim light of the torches.

My eyes only grew more oval at the two dwarfs and human that accompanied the elvhen swordsman. Unable to say a word, it was the swordsman who spoke first, but he spoke slowly and his voice carefully picked out the syllables like a child who had been caught stealing a handful of cookies from a cookie jar. "Now, Da'mi, before you say something you may regret, just hear us out."

"Jaras," I whispered in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't think you'd leave me out of this adventure of yours, did you?" At my silence, he continued. "I saw you walking out of your room and knew something was wrong. You didn't think you could just leave me here and go with this mage, did you? Come on, Da'mi. Where I go, you go. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember," I said and pinched the bridge of my nose. "Jaras you shouldn't even be here. And what about these three? What are they doing here?"

"Ah, about that." He worriedly rubbed the edge of his notched ear. "You see, I was going to come along anyway, and having a conversation with just you, me and the mage is not going to go well. So, I thought, why not bring along a few other people?"

I carefully glanced between each of them. "You are serious? You all really want to come? You don't even know where we're going."

"Aye, that's true," said Dugan. The dwarf rolled the heavy sack from his shoulder and stretched out his back. A click sounded and he leaned forward with a sigh. "But wherever we go, there're bound to be rocks nearby, and Stone be damned if I'm goin' to miss it. 'Sides, I don't get out often. Skyhold's the only place I've been 'sides Orzammar. There comes a time in a dwarf's life when he's got to leave the nest and find more rocks. So, whatever happens, I'm comin' along."

"It's dangerous out there," said Cole a heartbeat after. "I want to come."

Varric merely gave half a shrug and gestured to the spirit with a thick thumb. "What can I say? The kid wants to tag along, and me? Well, I've been in Skyhold for a while now and need some fresh air."

"Is there anyone else coming along, or is this all of you?" I asked.

Varric chuckled. "Unless you're counting the air, Stranger, we're it."

"Even with so many people, we can't all go together. A large group will almost surely cause unwanted attention," the apostate mage commented as he tied his horse's reign to the stable's post.

"Then we'll all go separately," said Varric. "You elves go first and we'll catch up later."

I let out an exhausted sigh - secretly relieved. "I suppose that could work."

Solas seemed amused by the turn of events and gestured to the stable's doors.

Outside, snow swirled through the fortress' gates. Assan raised his hoofs at the swift brush of wind and snow against his chest. The cold whipped the tips of my hood back and brought a cold chill down my back. Once his hoofs once again met the cobbled ground, he settled down and the wind seemed to dull. The bridge, marked by thick stone walls to the other side was long and silent.

"We better move now before anyone notices our absence," the apostate called from my side.

After one last shallow breath, my heels tapped Assan's side and together we journeyed out of the safety of Skyhold and into the untamed wilds of the Frostback Mountains.


	15. He Who Walks the Road

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Fifteen: He Who Walks the Road

It was many hours past sunset and at last the company and I had reached the edge of the Southron Hills of Fereldan, partly off the path and on the verge of a dense forest. It was more than a day's ride away from the intended destination, but we were all bone weary after a long day of galloping across the untamed wilds, past the moors and through rocky hillsides too unstable to go through by riding alone.

Assan and the other mounts were exhausted by the end and were led to a sparse area of land to be kept for the night. Solas, Cole and I had managed to set up the tents close to the horses while Jaras, Dugan and Varric left in search of our next meal. To our surprise, the dwarfs and elvhen returned an hour later with a heavy ram carcass strapped over one shoulder and with two arrows lodged into its side.

Dark faces were later hunched over a flickering flame, kindled over a patch of dry grass and snapped branches. Their shivering frames hunched over boulders, logs and stumps, all jagged by edge, moss-ridden and weathered by the elements. Arms curved as the new-found warmth drew back the cold wind in low howls to the far corners of the forest and turned the ram meat, suspended over a wooden spike, into a dark shade of brown. The ram was shared out evenly, even to the spirit who simply let the meat rest in the palm of his hand, likely unsure of what to do with it. Dugan and Jaras were the first to sink their teeth into their meals and were also the first to clear the thick chunks off the bones. The rest of my companions followed slowly after and took care in what they ate.

"The Brecilian Forest," I said as the gold and amber embers trailed over the leg of ram meat wrapped in my gloved hand. Once the meat had turned a darker shade, I tilted it away from the fire and carefully placed it on a stone slab to cool down. "That's where we're heading."

Leant against the hollow trunk of a fallen tree with a tome buried in the frayed fabric of his tunic, Solas chanced a glance from his book and absentmindedly cast his meal to one side. "Hmm. A strange place to be heading, but not surprising. There have been rumours of elvhen ruins once held there, though I, myself, have never journeyed there."

"It's a quiet place," I said and bit into my meat. The taste was bland and dry but was better than the apples and sandwiches rested in my pack. "It's dangerous, though, especially for those who are not used to the terrain. We should be fine so long as we can find the Sahlin clan. If not then things may become difficult."

"Difficult how?"

"The wilds there are different to other parts of Fereldan. The forest is a large one, easy to get lost in and not one of the friendliest places to be."

"Not to mention the damned wolves," muttered Jaras. Flecks of meat and juice plastered his jaw line. He drew his sleeve up, licked the meat from his chapped lips and cleared his throat. "Trust me, lads, the wolves are what you have to watch out for. Mad beasts they are and they don't take kindly to strangers, especially those that don't belong in the forest."

Varric leaned in on his stump and curled his fingers around the edge of his chin. "Wolves, Quick-Fingers? I'm sure a couple of wolves won't be too much trouble."

The bone slipped through the swordsman's fingers, only to hit his knee on the way down. Jaras began to fidget and while doing so, brought his heel down and snapped the bone in half with a loud crack. "No, lad. These things are worse than normal wolves. Tell them, Da'mi."

I sighed. "It's not what you think. When I was with the Sahlin clan, a story went round the clansmen saying that other Dalish had held refuge in the forest before the Sahlin clan settled there. The Keeper found no evidence of this other clan. There were no aravels, elvhen statues or tracks to suggest that any Dalish had ever been there. It was just a story. Nothing more. As for the wolves, the hunters did say that wolves patrolled the deeper parts of the forest, but they never assaulted or disturbed the clan in anyway, so we let them be."

Jaras shook his head. "That's not all true, Da'mi, and you know it!"

"Alright then, Quick-Fingers. You tell us what you saw," said Varric.

"They weren't just wolves," Jaras said. "They were bigger, darker. Saw one once during a hunt, I did. The beast was giant, larger than any of our horses, I dare say. And the teeth, like blades. A-and-"

"Gold eyes, bright and shining like coins twinkling under the silver light of a full moon." All eyes rested on Cole who simply stared into the fire, seemingly in his own little world with no idea of what he was saying. "Fur, black as tanned hide and claws long, sharp and pointed - pointed like a needle on a spinning wheel. Like the thread, blood is sewn into the claws, into the skin, dripping from the tips onto the barren mound of dirt where a body lies-"

Jaras turned white. Everyone lapsed into quietness. Before Cole could catch a breath and carry on, Jaras jumped to his feet like a startled hare and roughly tugged the young spirit's shoulder back. Cole snapped out of his trance and clutched the elvhen's arm as if it were an anchor. Jaras snatched the spirit's collar with another thick fist and held him up. The spirit's blonde hair dangled past his ears while his blue eyes stared up at his holder questionably. He was the only support Cole had from falling to the ground. "'Ey, spirit-thing. Hush. I don't want to remember that, you here, lad? You saying it out loud isn't helping. At all."

Slightly confused, Cole blinked. Twice. "Sorry."

Varric took his place between the two. His body, though small, served as their barrier. He raised his hands cautiously in an attempt to be persuasive, even going as far as to keep Bianca, his oddly-crafted crossbow, from reach. "Hey, now, don't blame the Kid. Wasn't his fault you happened to be thinking of something you didn't want to. Now, go on. Go back to your seat."

In the furthest corner, Dugan threw his arm out. "The archer's right, long-ear. Sit down."

In further encouragement, Varric leaned in and rested a hand against the elvhen's arm. "Go on, Quick-fingers. There's no need to cause a scene."

The dwarf watched Jaras carefully under lowered brows as the elvhen stepped back. His head tipped forward. Hair cloaked his face. His breathing was heavy, almost rugged, but he made no attempt to hide it. A muttered apology caught the spirit's ear before the elvhen retook his place by Dugan. The smaller dwarf gave him a pat on the shoulder, a comforting gesture, one which Jaras returned with a sad smile before he reached out to hook a piece of ram meat between his fingers.

It was neither Cole nor Jaras' fault for what had happened. I remembered the night the spirit spoke of. It was the time when Jaras had first gotten his vallaslin, the markings of the Dalish that proved their devotion to the Elvhen Gods. He had chosen Andruil. The Goddess of the Hunt was his. As a rite, he and a fellow hunter had to bring back a game worthy of the goddess' blessing. He had chosen a deer. However, on the night of his hunt, his hunting partner had disappeared. Worried, Jaras went in search of her, only to find her body torn apart by a black wolf. Jaras never mentioned his relationship with the woman archer, but I wasn't a fool. The sorrow behind his steady gaze and the drooped shoulders, caved in on his chest more than made it clear that they were close. He never managed to find the wolf responsible and so had held a strong hatred to wolves ever since.

"I'm sure you were under a lot of stress, Jaras, and saw something worse than what it actually was," I said once everyone had settled. "A wolf that size is impossible."

"And yet, it may not be," whispered Solas.

A thought crossed Varric's mind. "Wait, so there are horse-sized wolves in this forest and we're heading _towards_ them? Maker, should have stayed back at Skyhold."

I pursed my lips. "It's just superstition. There's nothing to worry about, Varric."

The dwarf gave a not so persuaded scowl. "Uh-huh. You know, a friend of mine said something similar once. If I remember correctly, he said something along the lines of, 'Oh, it's just an old mining tunnel in the middle of nowhere with a list of missing miners and Maker knows what else. I'm sure it's perfectly safe. What could possibly go wrong?' Yeah, that was it. Hawke and I then found ourselves at the mercy of the biggest dragon I've ever laid eyes on that, despite their friendly reputation, wasn't all that friendly. Good thing the beast preferred the taste of miners to Fereldans and dwarfs though, so Hawke and I were alright. Besides, how was anyone supposed to know that dragons liked having dark and creepy caves to live in?"

"No way," I said. "That cannot be true."

"Oh, but it is. Have I ever told you about the time the Inquisitor struck down a dragon in the Westcoast? The beast was already in the middle of a fight with an orge - you know those big, ugly fellas that somehow found its way there, when the Kid here snuck up behind the thing and cut through it's under belly. They're pretty soft down there. Then, when the dragon's head dipped, the Inquisitor rammed through the chink in its neck. Bianca here lodged an arrow in there not long before. The beast gave a rallied cry and the Inquisitor pulled his sword back from the dragon's hide. Blood went everywhere."

"That ain't true!" sputtered Dugan who somehow had managed to gain a wineskin with the thick aroma of ale and brew.

"Honest, it's true!" laughed Varric. "Just ask Chuckles over here. Was definitely something you couldn't forget. Right Ch-" Varric frowned. "Say, where is Chuckles?"

An abrupt silence fell between the company as all heads turned to our surroundings. The apostate was nowhere to be seen.

I turned from my place. "He was right with us, wasn't he?"

Varric simply shrugged. "Huh. Must've gone on another long walk by himself. He does that."

Not persuaded in the slightest, I frowned. "Isn't it worth seeing where he's gotten to?"

"Nah, there's no point, Stranger. Chuckles is one of those people that likes to wander off now and then. Better leave him to it. He'll come back if there's any real trouble."

"Still, it's quite dark out," I said and glanced back at the cluster of trees so thick that it could have been a wall in the low-light.

Varric gestured to the forest. "Look, if you want to search for him, be my guest. We'll be here if you need us."

From his place, Dugan nudged himself forward. "So... what happened next? Did the Inquisitor win or did the dragon come back to life?"

Varric chuckled at his new-found audience. "No, Crazy. The dragon, believe it or not, was dead. The ogre on the other hand..."

Unsure of how I felt about the apostate being out on his own, especially with it being so late, I decided to head out into the thick of the forest alone while the others stayed behind within the camp. Through the trees, the branches dipped low, snagged on frayed fabric and led the way to a path left bare from both roots and upturned stones. Behind, the last echoes of the dwarf's conversation faded against both the rustling of the tree boughs and the mutters of slinking wildlife too deep into the undergrowth to be seen or reach light.

As I walked, the path led further and further away from the camp and towards a clearing of grassland where trees had yet to enclose. In the distance, open fields stretched far over a dark sky that glistened with unfamiliar stars and a half moon, seen only through a faded rift of grey cloud. Beyond that, the woodland curved its way over the hillsides and shadowed vales. By one vale lay a hint of long low roofs. A village, I supposed. Perhaps even a township. It must have been old, though. There was no hint of a village on the map.

_Fenedhis, apostate. Where were you?_

A flicker of motion caught the corner of my eye. It belonged to a heavy breath that drifted from the edge of the undergrowth and expanded its way through the air into nothingness. Beneath an ancient oak, left under the dark branches and wretched in thought was Solas. His hood dipped over the contours of his face. Flickers of light writhed, twisted and coiled between his finger tips. At the intake of breath, the light disappeared and his fingers curled in.

"Shouldn't you be back at camp?" he asked. His face had not lifted and instead seemed to be content on staring at the staff rested over one knee.

"Shouldn't you?" I asked in return.

"Perhaps, but with being at Skyhold, there is only so much time I have to myself."

I blinked. The meaning slowly sunk in. "Then I'm intruding. Excuse me."

"No, I didn't mean-" Frowning, he turned his head slowly, as if he was at an impasse on what to say. "I didn't mean to offend. You are here now. Why not join me?"

"You're sure?"

The apostate gave a short nod.

Wearily, I lowered myself to the ground and sat merely a hair's width away from his side. His shoulders tensed at the closeness, but soon eased when he became comfortable. The strip of blanket, tangled around the apostate's legs was pulled up to partly cover mine. I wrapped my fingers tightly around the material and tugged it up to my chest.

Being close to another person, one that was not one I knew too well was strange, but not unwanted. The cool nip of the air ceased when shielded by the blanket and allowed warmth to slowly return to my body. "What are you doing out here?"

"Thinking."

"And what is worth so much thought at this hour?"

Solas hesitated, then eyed the ground narrowly. "The past. Matters that will only bore you."

Having sensed the sorrow from the slightly wary tone of his voice and the uncertain gaze partially hidden under the crease of his brow, I nudged his shoulder. He did not return it, nor did I expect him to. It was obvious he was unused to contact of any sorts. If my contact offended him, though, he never mentioned it.

"You know," I whispered, "talking about things can help."

"Perhaps, but this is a hurt that cannot heal, even with conversation."

To try and influence him to tell his secrets was not something that would have either happened or made anything better. It merely would have made me seem like a prying fool, someone who could not keep her own business to herself. Therefore, I decided to rest my eyes and leaned back against the tree. The bark was rough against the base of my skull, hard and pricked, yet somehow made the perfect rest. The gentle thrum of the wind as it passed through the leaves above made a strangely mournful tune, one that drifted worrying thoughts and allowed my mind to wander. How I missed those moments. The sense of freedom. The brush of nature's touch. Being under a nameless sky with only the stars for company. It was one of the reasons I did not mind a life with the Dalish. Nature was a large part of their life, as it was mine.

"I'm curious." The apostate's words were soft, gentle, and did not ruin the sense of tranquillity that took my mind from the real world. "Was there a reason that brought you here other than worrying about my safety?"

I allowed myself to smile. "I was not worried. Concerned is a better word for it." My nose crinkled at a thought. "There was something though."

"Then speak what is on your mind."

My gaze flickered to his. "I have been thinking about this for a while now. I must admit, your telling of the Fade is quite interesting. I'd like to hear more, if that's alright."

"Certainly. Was there something you wished to know in particular?"

My arms hooked at the base of my knees. "How do you see the past in the Fade? I mean, how do you control what you see? I thought dreaming was all there was. Even as a mage, it's difficult to... walk the Fade, if that makes sense. This mustn't be coming out right. It's confusing."

"I understand. The Fade is new to you. You have not experienced what other mages have. What I have. I must admit, it is rare to find any mage interested in the Fade, such as you. I believed when we first met you called it foolish. What changed?"

"I may have said it was foolish but I never said it wasn't interesting. You described it in such detail and wonderment. How could someone not want to see something like that? Especially with my interest in these sorts of things. Besides, where I came from, the Fade was not always seen as a dangerous place. In truth, many marvelled at the prospect of- um, dreaming, and even then I was naive on the topic. It was only when I encountered the Dalish that I truly realised the dangers of the Fade."

Solas arched an eyebrow. "Interesting. Many mages fear the Fade. To have those that are willing to go there or even, as you said, marvel at the prospect, is something truly rare."

"Yes. It was..." It was a better place, once. A place that despite everything could never return.

The apostate must have noticed that the topic was not one I wished to continue, and instead asked, "So, what did you wish to know?"

I smiled, slightly amused. "I would say everything but I fear that we may then stay the whole night. The Fade, though. I have never been able to control it. Is there a way for you to... to show me?"

Solas looked at the ground for a long, long moment, thoughtfully. At last he spoke in a slight chuckle. "Even now you continue to surprise me. I could, but to do that one must first be asleep."

"Oh."

"You truly wish to learn?"

I nodded.

He smiled then and rose to his feet. "Then come," he said and lightly brushed the leaves from his robe. "There is a place I wish to show you."

I took one more lasting look at the forest, partially wondering if I would ever be able to have another quiet moment like that again, before compliantly following the apostate mage away, completely oblivious in what to expect.

...

A thin veil of grey shimmered against the silken mist that covered the vast expanse of the Fade. The place was quiet and empty, like an essence of life was missing from the void. Thoughts and feelings were what were missing and the place simply seemed to exist with no real purpose.

Yet, after a few heartbeats, subtle cracks began to appear within the Fade, cracks that stretched and thinned into long vines of emerald and gold, crossing and entwining into the thin cloud effortlessly. The vines blended and moulded against the grey into shapes that slowly began to form textures and movement. The grey from above took the form of the sky, altering from its dull colour to a pale blue and darker shade for cloud cover. Beyond the clouds was the gentle light of the sun, yet it could only appear through narrow rifts when the clouds parted.

Beneath my feet, colourless strands peeked from the ground, only to twist at the stems and shift into tall grass that brushed across the heel of my boots. Lines, dark and long, marked the rest of the ground like fishing net. I watched in fascination as the lines drifted across in narrow slits like water in a stream, only to connect at individual points to create the cracks of a flagstone road.

Columns, houses and towers were so surprisingly familiar that it was almost unnerving. As the last of the courtyard was created, ballads composed by a minstrel were softly sung from the tavern's parted doorway and cracked windows. Other sounds accompanied it - the heavy smack of clashed steel and the eager twitter of nobles too far away to be seen.

"We're back at Skyhold?" I asked, slightly confused.

It was Skyhold, yet also slightly different. The outline of the towers from the sky shimmered in a faint light, one that made the place strangely unique, heavenly and beautiful. The air felt alive. It thrummed with the gentle essence of magic in a way I had never truly experienced. It was light against the skin and tingled in a pleasant way. A warm breeze blew westward. It caught the edges of my hood and ghosted the longer strands of hair past my face.

When Solas spoke, his voice was warm and tender - different to how he spoke in the forest, as if being in the Fade made his worries disappear. "Skyhold is familiar. It's where you first came to us and where you have stayed for a time. No matter what happens, it will always be important to you. It will do well for what I have planned."

"Planned?"

The apostate stared intently upon the vision he created, almost lost within its wonder. He turned. "For teaching you."

"Me? I did not think you were serious. But, if you are, then are you to become my mentor in all things of the Fade?" My voice took on a lighter tone. "What should I call you? Hahren? Mentor? Teacher? Guide?"

The corners of my his lips twitched, almost involuntarily. He even flushed a little at the tips of his ears, but covered it with a muffled cough. "I'm sure my name would be more appropriate than those titles, Da'len, but yes."

I turned to gaze upon the Inquisition banner that gently flapped against its post. It was so life-like. "And what will I be doing, oh noble mentor?"

"Hopefully, you will be able to do a manner of things, but for now perhaps we should begin with something simple."

The apostate straightened out his back, an action that I noticed he took often when he tried to be professional. He cupped his hands behind himself and lifted his chin. "As a mage, you train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Therefore, you are half-way through your training already. The Fade is a manifestation of our and other dreamer's consciousnesses - every smell, sight and sound can be manifested into a dream. Therefore, any experience can, inherently, be put forward or, in some cases, made real. We shall begin with something small." Solas gestured for me to move away from the gateway and to stand by his side. "Do not think of the Fade as a task needing to be completed. Instead, think of it as you would when casting a spell. Do you concentrate on the words displayed in a book and little else? No. You feel the magic upon your skin, tingling. The Fade is magic. You can control it. In your mind, think of something familiar, something you know well - an object or even place. Memorize every detail. What did you feel when you where there? What sights, sounds and senses were there? You are making the place real."

"What do you mean? I don't understand-"

"Stop."

I swallowed.

He smiled a small smile and carefully raised his hand to cover my eyes. "Close your eyes. Try to concentrate." I felt him shift. He was closer, though I was not too sure how much. When he next spoke, it was quiet, just above a whisper. "Tell me, Da'len. What do you see?"

Though hesitant, I did as I was told. In the beginning, there was nothing. My mind was as blank as a book, ready to be written on. Yet, as my thoughts drifted, I found one idea reoccurring. It was a shadow, a tall shadow. It was... "I see... a tree."

"What does it look like?"

"It's... brown... has leaves?" The shadow did not move, nor did it seem to reflect any detail other than being what it was. "Solas, what does it matter what it looks like? It looks like a tree!"

The apostate's voice took on a low, serious tone. "Concentrate, Da'len. Is there a specific pattern? Where does this tree usually grow? What makes it special?"

I sighed. "It's tall. Dark. Has many branches."

"Go on."

Strangely, the thought changed. The branches stretched, the shadow paled and the long groves of the bark became apparent. "Some of the branches are straight. Others are wavy. They tangle and entwine themselves like vines and seem to go up endlessly. There's a mass of green leaves with red petals sprouted at the top. There's also carvings in the tree. Elvish. There's... a face. The bark wrinkles and curves into thick lines and the face looks old but friendly.

A hand touched mine, warm yet rough. A gentle tug pulled my hand from my side and laid it outward. My fingers twitched on the impulse to feel something. The warmth grew as the figure moved to my side and then to my back. Cool breath tickled the base of my neck and the figure drew closer. The feeling ghosted the tip of my ear as the apostate spoke. "Open your eyes."

Shimmering a few feet away was the thought... the tree. It was but a mere copy of what I envisioned, poor in attempt compared to the marvel Solas had crafted, and yet it was unbelievable. Even as the copy took root into the ground, the leaves danced along with the breeze as if it was really there, as if it was part of the world. As if it was real.

I shook my head. "That's... unbelievable."

A light chuckle sounded from behind. "Indeed."

A shiver fleeted across my arm as my hand coiled in to my chest. "No wonder you spend so much time here. To be able to create things like this... to make memories real..."

"You must have picked that tree for a reason."

What he said was true. I did. The meaning of the tree only took a moment to remember. It was a sad memory, one that brought a sharp sting to my eyes, but was also one I could not escape. "There was a forest close to the place I lived. My brother and I used to hide there. We always used to go to this tree, just because we knew that no one else knew where it was." I smiled, despite the heavy pull on my heart. "It was a quiet place. A place away from the arguments of the family." I could remember the hours spent in the evenings past dusk simply watching the stars appear in the sky and repeating tales heard from both friends and the family. There were many occasions were my brother and I fought and were in disagreements with, but even then we would still meet up at that tree, even if we neither acknowledged each other's company nor spoke to one another. With the slight hope of blinking away a stray tear, I let out a shaky breath, wiped the edge of my cheek and turned to look up at Solas. "Ma serannas, hahren. No wonder you come here often. This meant a lot."

Despite the emotion that welled up inside of me, despite knowing that it was useless to try to hide it when it was obvious that the sight of the tree affected me, Solas neither looked away nor asked questions. He must have known that certain matters were better left unspoken. I could understand why he did not want to talk about his worries then. It was something that didn't need to be said and was better left to the soul who carried it.

"This was not meant to cause pain, Da'len," Solas said slowly.

I shook my head. "Nae. It didn't. You didn't. And if it is pain, then it is a good pain."

"I'm glad you came here. It is nice to spend time in the Fade with another."

"As am I. Though, I was hoping to see a vision like one of your stories."

The apostate laughed then. "Perhaps another time. You have just grasped the ability to manifest a thought through your own will. Perhaps I will show you a memory of a place once you are more skilled."

Slightly disappointed, I sighed. "Damn."

Solas tilted his head. "You look disappointed. Have I said something wrong?"

"Nae. I just hoped to see something like one of your stories."

"Hah, in time, Da'len. In time." The apostate gazed out over the vision of Skyhold again, yet his smile dropped to a more serious expression, one I knew meant it was time to take our leave. "Come. We better wake before the others notice our absence."

"Yes, because I doubt they're not too distracted in one of Varric's tales to notice we're missing."

"You know, I must admit, the child of the stone's stories are quite fascinating." He smirked. "Do not tell him I said that though."

"Do not worry, Solas," I said and nudged his shoulder. "Your secret is safe with me."

Skyhold, with all its haunting beauty within the Fade, shivered and dulled as its creator headed to the wooden gates and back to the waking world. As he slipped into the invisible wall, his mind now back in reality, a stray whisper caught the wind. It was faint, quiet - barely understandable.

As the path to waking shortened, I felt the ghost of a chill upon my arm.

The whisper, still quiet, had escaped my ears and instead seemed to be heard from within my mind with a slight echo. It was gruff and low in voice. Male. Refined. Distinct. It felt personal, as if it were a part of me, as if it were an inner voice.

_'Harellan.'_

I halted. My breath caught in sudden fear.

_'Harellan.'_

No. He would not get to me. Not when I was so close.

_'Ma harellan.'_

A soft touch brushed the tips of my hair back from my shoulders, only to allow the strands to slip between his grasp one individual strand at a time. I could feel the cold grip of his fingers; imagine the bright flash of grey reflected off his silver finger's bladed tip. It was just a dream.

His words were poison slipped into my drink, a dagger held in the vein of my neck. I listened when I should have turned and ran. 'The quick-children? Shemlen? You truly believe they will protect you?"

"They'll protect me from you," I whispered. The tone of my voice was unsteady, breathless.

"And how long for, little mockingbird?" he spat. A swift tug tipped my head back. There was no pain. "How long will this play of cat and bird be? When will you tire and return?"

The grip he held was rough, but there was hesitance. I could feel it. A slight pause when his nail caught my ear.

"You're not here. You cannot be. I never touched the shard."

"We are more connected then you believe, child."

As a hint to how connected we were, he grazed his nail down the skin of my elbow and followed the veins back and forth. I raised a trembling hand to grip his, but only met my skin. It was not real.

"No, we're not..." I said and let out a shaky breath. "And you hold no power here."

I felt the edge of his nose against my ear. Felt it fall to the base of my neck. His lips curved. A smile.

I ran. His dark chuckle echoed from high in the towers and down the road in an unending chant; a battle cry that never ceased to end and with a sole purpose: torment.

Before my hand touched the cold wall of the gate, one last sentence was uttered from my master's lips, one said and meant for only me to hear. "For now."


	16. The Brecilian Forest

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Sixteen: The Brecilian Forest

The Brecilian Forest beckoned me to it like the steady pulse of a beating heart. Every tree we crossed held a tale passed its years. Every stone once belonged to the entirety of an archway or tower long lost to the ages of time.

Six months. That was how long it had been since I last set foot in the place. Six months and the forest had not changed a day. It was peaceful and quiet at first. The road had been overlaid by ancient roots, matted into a thick nest. It was simple to find, but a misstep from the road could have meant an early grave if one was not careful. Despite its appearance, however, it was also frightening. Twines of pale mist shrouded the tangled arms and skeletal fingers of the evergreen oaks and shimmered in the pale light drawn through the canopy above. The mist crept up upon the horse's legs, clawing and scraping in long grasps. The animals stirred. Their ears tipped back. Assan's movements tensed as he climbed the pass.

The forest was a strange place. Those that had frail hearts usually turned back upon its sight, especially after dusk, yet those that knew its dangers and the clearest parts were usually safe. It was once believed that the souls of the old elvhen, long since dead to the world rested within the forest's borders and that they were the cause of the low moans that hissed in the night. Their sorrow plagued those that trespassed and clouded their minds, drawing them further from their path and deeper into the forest's depths, never to return. Whatever the truth was to the forest, be it witches, magic or demons, strangers had not been on the path in a long time and if they had, there was no trace of them.

"This place is old. Older than I imagined," the elvhen apostate whispered. "I wonder what dreams could be hidden here."

Varric watched the forest carefully. Each little sound caused his arm to twitch back. His crossbow inched closer to his fingers."You're really thinking of dreaming now, Chuckles?"

Solas glanced back at the dwarf. "Something wrong, child of the stone?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Wrong? No. Nothing's wrong. It's just... does anyone else get a bad feeling about being here? Like someone's watching us?"

"I see no one. I'm sure we are alone."

"What if it's them wolves the long-ear talked about?" muttered Dugan. He clutched the edge of his axe tight against his chest plate. "Wolves as big as these horses-beasts, he said, didn't he? Well, here's one dwarf they won't have for supper. I have the eyes of a mountain lion and ears of a fennec. Nothin' can scare me. Let 'em try."

As if using the old dwarf's lack of fear as an excuse, Jaras leaned back in his saddle and pulled up on the rear. His horse drew back with a slight cry. The dwarf's arms sprang out on either side, fell back and grasped the flaps of their saddle in one hasty motion. His beard and brows sunk as he turned to stare up at the rider. "Don't do that to me, long ear! You know how I hate these horse-beasts. Damn things are nothin' like the bronto is Orzammar. It ain't steady and it ain't got horns to keep the butt cosy." He leaned slightly on his side to catch the horse's eye. "Bronto's don't take their master's carrots either. Yeah, I saw you, you damn-"

"Enough berating the horse, lad. Poor thing already has to tolerate your stink. Now it has to see your face too?" Jaras said and forced the reign left.

Dugan cried out and grabbed Jaras' back with a firm gauntlet.

"'Ey! Get off."

"Not a chance, long-ear."

I sighed. Perhaps bringing those two along was not the best idea.

Varric, slightly amused by the situation, allowed the tenseness to subside from his shoulders. He took another long look around, peered over the trees for any sign of unusual movement and then shook his head. "Huh. I must be paranoid."

"You truly think we're alone?" I asked and pulled Assan slightly back so that both of our horses were at equal distance.

"Wait, we're not?"

In the distance, shadows met, dipped and disappeared through the twining branches. They were ghosts, quiet and precise. To the dwarf's surprise, I smiled. "We haven't been alone for quite a while now."

"She's right," said Cole as he watched the rays of light through the leaves. "There are people following us."

"And you thought to bring it up now?" asked Varric.

Cole tilted his head - a confused gesture. "She didn't want me to tell you."

As the trees rustled in what my companion's assumed was a bird roosting and the faint echo of a voice caught the wind, I raised my hand back in order to gain their attention and narrowed my eyes to get a better look into the tighter vines of the forest. The vines were so entangled with tree leaves and black thorns that nothing could be seen within. "They can hear every word we say," I mouthed. "We don't want them to know that we know, do we?"

It only took a moment for Varric's jaw to firm and for him to stare unblinkingly at me as if I had grown another head or arm. "Shit."

"Just carry on."

Though slightly shaken at the fact that we weren't as alone as they had thought, all of them did what they were told and the shadows seemed to be content to continue following in silence.

We passed a great bend and headed in the direction of the forest's east. The path became less clear as we moved. The long roots once held above the damp mud and leaves had buried themselves deep within the earth and all that was left was their indentations in the dirt. Soon even those would disappear. The fog gracefully lifted from the land and, as the land steeped lower and deeper into the slope of a valley, towering poles of oak and stone marked the way. On their surface were messages, engraved in old elvhen. Some marked a warning that those trespassing would meet a fate worse than death. Those held posts of bear skulls, lashed with hewn twine. On others was a greeting to those that knew the land and was of their kin.

"If the elves know we're here then why haven't they attacked yet?" the dwarf asked.

I gently grazed my finger along one post. The writing, slashed along the centre with what could only have been a bone knife, had weathered since I last saw it, but the directions were clear enough to understand. "Trust me, Varric. If we were anyone else, we would not have come this far."

"That's... not very comforting."

I gently pressed my ankle into Assan's flank and the horse moved at a slightly faster pace. The valley flattened as the ground became soft and sunken. Assan's hind legs kicked through the mellow mire and rose when he contacted the surface of a particularly dense part of the bog. Murky water rippled around his sides and smeared the tips of his dark mane. I leaned over in the saddle to get a better view of the water, only to find a figure held up within the canopy, staring down in the reflection. The figure was too dark to make out just from the reflection alone, but the green eyes and hint of gold hair were familiar. I did not look up, nor did I pay any attention to the figure. Instead, I leaned back and motioned for everyone to move faster.

Further upland, hidden and shrouded by groves of vast oaks, was the hint of a stone archway. The archway led to a partial hill where the land had hardened, but was troublesome to ride on as it was scattered with unlevelled stone. "We're close."

It was not long before we were out of the valley and in the direction of the clan. Pillars of ash wood towered the end of the path and clustered together into a barrier between us and the Dalish. The only way through was through a gate slashed with red paint, used to resemble a cut across the skin. However, unknown to many, the gate was held back by magic - magic that only the Sahlin clan could control. It was bound to their blood and only they could possess the power to open the gate and pass through.

I tugged Assan's reign back.

"What's a gate doing here?" asked Dugan.

"Unlike the other Dalish clans, the Sahlin do not journey from place to place. They've built a settlement here and the gate keeps people out," I said.

I slipped off from the edge of my saddle and watched the gate closely. It was strange how there was no one out there to greet us. Voices could be heard from within, but the lack of guard outside was unusual. If I remembered correctly, the gates were usually protected by at least two clansmen at a time, and the one in charge of those clansmen was a huntswoman. Senna.

"Is everything alright, Da'len?" Solas climbed down from his horse and released his staff from the animal's back.

"I'm not sure." I pressed my hand against the gate. The soft hum of magic met my ears and my palm twitched at the sharp shiver of the ward, but the gate remained locked. "Jaras, why don't you try? You are one of them after all. The gate's bound to let you through."

Darkness caught the corner of my eye. Warm breath and a sharp creak met my ear. An arrow-like tip flashed silver in the light. I felt the lean edge steel my senses with its frigid touch. The blade, if it was a blade, grazed the corner of my cowl were my neck met my shoulder and tipped my chin up.

"Don't move," a voice rasped.

I swallowed thickly and raised my hands.

Behind, the horses whined and cried. The ground began to hammer. Their legs kicked and bodies thrashed. Unaware of the archer, my companions tried to steady their animal's fright to no avail. Lines flashed past bodies and cloaks. Arrows dotted the earth by their feet.

The horse's movements became frantic. The reigns snapped from hands. My hand jerked back and forth as Assan followed the herd. The archer's arrow dug into the base of my chin, but I could not let Assan go.

"Assan!" I yelled, but the horse did not listen. His head thrashed from left to right. His legs kicked high in the air. "Assan! Hamin! Calm youself." With a sharp pull, I forced the reign to my chest. A quick spell left my lips and within moments ice clusters mantled my feet. I was tied to the ground, unable to move.

The other horses quickly vanished into the thick of the forest. Without the others to follow, Assan listened to my chants and began to calm. After several moments, his breathing slowed down and his head bowed in line with the reigns still clutched to my chest.

"Hamin, Assan. Good." I gently stroked his nose. "Good."

"And what do we have here?"

My fingers twitched. I turned around. Men and women, figured in leather tunics covered over by mossy robes and tied around the waist by braided rope, glared darkly under grey hoods. Their bowstrings protested with a heavy creak as they were forced further back. They had come from the forest as warriors ready to advance on a fight they expected to win. My companions had drawn their weapons in time to pose some threat. It was hopeless to try to attack though. The Dalish outnumbered us, six to ten.

"And to think, I thought it was going to be a slow day. Never thought a bunch of shemlen would walk into our lands."

I turned my head in search of the voice, only to pause at the streak of blonde hair that drifted from one of the archer's hoods. Her robes were different to the others, being amber instead of green. She released a hand from her bow and stepped forward. A small dagger bounced against her left hip as she did so. Green eyes swept over mine and paused on my companions. She tipped her head down, almost curiously.

"Two dwarves, a human and a... flat ear." She looked back at me. "What interesting company you keep."

"Who's she calling a flat ear?" Dugan hissed from behind Jaras' legs. He tried to lunge out, but Jaras held the dwarf back by the waist of his chainmail. "Huh? Come closer and say that to my face, long ear! I'll show you a flat ear-"

"I do believe she meant me, master dwarf," Solas said. His upper lip curled in disdain. "As to be expected."

"You don't wear our markings so you are definitely a flat ear, like it or not," she said and raised a hand out wide to her fellow archers. Her other hand rested above her hip. "So, tell me. Why shouldn't I kill you six now? You are trespassing after all. Can't really have that."

"'Ey, lass." Jaras pulled Dugan back with a sharp tug and stepped out in front. "Pull down your hood. Let's see your face."

"Oh? And why should I do that?"

"Your voice," he said. "It'd take much longer than six months to forget it."

For a moment, she did not react, nor reply. And then, her hands reached up and tugged the corners of her hood down past her pointed ears, only to rest in line with the leaf-shaped pendant tied around her neck. "Jaras? It is you, isn't it? My, never thought I'd see you again. Miss my face that much, did you, lethallin? Is that why you came back?"

Jaras gave a crooked grin. "Always good to see you, lass."

"Senna?" I asked in surprise. My grip on Assan's reign loosened. "It is you, isn't it?"

The elvhen archer looked back. Her arms folded. "Lahris. Huh. Didn't think you'd be back so soon, lethallan. Got that thing with your arm sorted out?"

I glanced down at my arm. I shook my head. "No. But we need to talk to Keeper Athrion. It's important."

"And you came all this way just for that?" She stared at me doubtfully and waited for an answer. With none, she turned to look at the gate. Her voice took on a bitterness that was more than normal for her. "You know, you could have sent a letter. It's been six months, Lahris, and we hadn't heard a word from you. Most thought you died. The Keeper's too stubborn though. No telling what that old fool believes in or where he gets such hope from but he believed you'd return. Seems he was right. Mostly. Don't think he thought you'd bring a bunch of shemlen though. That one's new."

"Yes, I know. I need to see him. Mind opening the gate?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"What you expect to happen when I do," she said. "You know there are many in there that aren't very... comfortable with the shemlen you've brought. And many still see you as a stranger. Remember how they reacted when you first came to us? Not greatly. And now with these? It might be best for them to wait out here."

I shook my head. "No. My companions stay with me. We've come a long way. We need to see the Keeper now. They won't make any trouble."

She looked between my companions questionably. Her brows connected deep under her cropped fringe at Solas, who merely stared back, unfazed by her reaction. "I don't think that's the right choice, Lahris. But, I know you. Stubborn as a wolf with a hare, you can be. Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Senna waved up a gloved hand and in an instant, all arrows were dislodged and bows left limp in hands. "This way."

She did not even need to press against the gate. It seemed to sense her proximity and parted itself, gaining access to the settlement inside.

The Sahlin was an old clan, one that dated back many centuries and held bloodlines as far back as the original elvhen that prospered within the once great city of Arlathan. A city that no longer existed. Keeper Athrion once said that it was a city born of purity and wisdom, that it was a time when elvhen lived immortally among themselves and with the ancient children of the stone, dwarves. It was a time of great magic and noble heritage. The city was one of the great spectacles of the lost world, one that many had thought could withstand the ages of time, as did its people. But it was not enough. The elvhen once ruled all of Thedas with an empire that could never be rivalled or reclaimed. And when the first humans, or quick children founded the great city, they lived at peace with their curved-eared cousins for a time, but in return grew susceptible to their deceases and inevitably their most fatal curse - a mortal death. Eventually, the first humans fought against the elvhen and ended many of our ancestor's lives. The rein of the elvhen, a once proud and noble people, ended when the last shimmering towers of Arlathan rested in the bowels of the ground, sunken deep within the earth, never to reach the light again.

_'T'was not just the city that was lost,'_ the Keeper had once said, _'but the heritage we may never manage to regain. The Fall of Arlathan was our greatest loss. A great city. A shining jewel that we cannot even remember. A glory long lost to us. We try to remember what is gone, as we should, but never must we forget to keep within this moment. Forever in this moment, or we will forget ourselves.'_

That was what the Sahlin clan strived to achieve and remember. All Dalish strived to remember the past, but the Sahlin remembered the present as well. It was a way many had forgotten in their pride.

Less than fifty elvhen lived within the clan. Screams and yelling filled the forest air as children danced and played along the edges of the clan's walls, and behind the many fur tents knitted together by great fires not yet lit on the ground. Beyond those, herds of halla - white-horned beasts with fur the colour of pale snow and bodies as thin and dainty as their closely related cousins, the deer of the Hinterlands, stripped the ground of black grass and leaves. Though the clan was as peaceful as it was when I had left, tension and suspicion had grown quick. It was not long before the children were hushed into their tents by their mothers - the seals strapped shut with no more than a cursed whisper. Hunter's bone knives ceased to be sharpened as we walked and carts were dropped from their stead. The hunters turned to stare beneath greying hoods. None had seen before so many shemlen within their borders, at least not since they had arrived within the forest. Insults, growls and shouts were quickly exchanged to the new comers and the return of both Jaras and I. It grew worse as Senna guided us closer to the heart of the clan.

Jaras rubbed his notched ear and glanced around. "I don't think this was the best idea, Da'mi."

Senna smirked. "I agree. It wasn't the best idea to come back here with shemlen, was it, Lahris? Wonder how long it'll be before they ask for blood."

"The Keeper wouldn't allow that," I said. "Besides, my falon haven't done anything wrong."

"Your falon, is it? What happened to companions? Out of everyone here, I would have thought that you of all would distrust a shemlen rather than make peace with one." She frowned. "Have they really made you so soft?"

"Times change, Senna. And these 'shemlen' are more important then you realise."

"Huh. You know, the place hasn't been the same without you."

"You mean you missed me?" I asked, amused.

"No." The bitterness in her voice eased and took on a lighter tone. "Jaras, yes. You? I barely even realised you had gone."

I bit back a laugh. "Ma serannas, Senna. You truly know how to make someone feel at home."

The path ended at the foothold of the tallest tent, displayed with great, vibrant red sails crafted in the finest silk in all of Fereldan. The sails swayed over the sturdy support of an ornately carved wagon, known as an aravel to the Dalish people. They were originally land ships, used to travel from place to place with the aid of the Keeper's magic, but since the Sahlin needn't move from the forest anymore, the aravels were constructed into permanent homes for the higher-ranking members of the clan and as a place for storage.

The light colours painted on the base waved like the unsteady currents of the sea as the wind picked up. Senna climbed the small flags of stone to the entrance of the aravel. Many of the clan had gathered around us and muttered to themselves while they waited to hear from the Keeper. However, before Senna had touched the aravel's parting and set foot inside, a call came loud from the crowd - angry and spiteful. A frustrated groan fell from her lips and she looked back.

It was the Keeper's Second, Cyrian, who had called out. The hawk feathered pauldrons, fastened over a brown garb that met the ground, were unmistakable, as was the long face, carved with a wide mouth, a hook of a nose and beady, deep-set eyes that shone with mischief and a strong hatred. Despite being tall, sinewy and scarred along his jaw, his steps were slow, precise and calculative. He carved a path through the crowd and halted at the step below Senna.

She scowled. "What is it now, Cyrian? Shouldn't you be off gathering herbs or whatever it is you do?"

"What is it now, she asks," he said in a harsh, bitter voice. He slowly turned to face the crowd. "What is it now? Oh, but you already know, Senna. We hear voices from beyond our gates and are greeted by the very people who we aim to keep out! Shemlen. You bring shemlen into our very homes." His cold gaze fell on mine. A cruel smirk tugged at his mouth. "And who do we have here? Who is the cause of this breach of our customs? Elgar'shiral. The stranger from the mountain has returned home. A snake writhing in the grass is still a snake, no matter how far it slithers. No matter how much it refrains itself from biting. You were never supposed to be here. Why have you returned?"

The mutters of the crowd grew restless as the many piercing eyes fell on me. I swallowed thickly. "I'm here to see Keeper Athrion, Cyrian. Nothing more."

"Nothing more, she says. And to think, I thought we got rid of your like months ago. And still you return."

Jaras frowned. "'Ey, lad, mind your words."

"And Jaras." Cyrian raised his chin. "The brave hunter comes back to the clan after all this time, not once thinking of the consequences of betraying us when you left with _her_. You have no say here. Traitor."

"I didn't betray anyone, lad," he said. "She needed my help. I gave it to her."

"So you say."

"By the Stone, can someone shut this fool up? Damn long-ear's giving me a headache," Dugan muttered.

Cyrian must have heard him because he watched the dwarf closely, like a feral cat sizing its prey before the pounce. "We have no patience for fools such as you, dwarf. Go back to the mud hole you came from. In fact, all you shemlen leave before we make you leave."

To Cyrian's pleasure, chants and curses filled the expanse of the air and left none for reason. The decision had all but been made for the clan. He had gained the will of the people and used their hatred for shemlen against us. Many commanded for the shemlen to be thrown into the expanse of the forest, left to the wilds. Others wanted the shemlen to pay for trespassing on 'sacred' ground and disturbing their homes. Others, the most serious of the clan, wished for far worse.

I stammered back. Assan's muzzle hit my shoulder blade, but I continued to move away. Senna moved to separate Cyrian from us with the help of her archers, but it was quickly becoming a lost cause.

"Dark and desperate, death to make the fear go away. I don't understand. Why are they angry at us?" Cole looked between the people in confusion.

Varric tugged the spirit back by the hand. "Not the right time, Kid."

Solas nodded. "Agreed."

"That's enough!" a voice echoed from the aravel. A hand held the frayed silk of a sail in between long fingers before it was drawn back. Greying hair swept through the parting, followed by the gentle wave of an emerald cloak. His movements were stiff and eyes heavy-lidded, having come from a deep sleep. Keeper Athrion's face and voice, cold as a sword blade and hard as freshly cut lyrium rock, stifled any smiles, waggling tongues and the confidence Cyrian had basked in. The clan as well as the Keeper's Second lapsed into silence. "What in the name of Elgar'nan is going on here? Cyrian, what is the meaning of this?"

Cyrian went quiet in consideration of his answer. "I-I... Keeper, you see-"

"Keeper," Senna interrupted with a light bow of her head. "Lahris has returned, along with Jaras and a few... unexpected companions."

Keeper Athrion's brows rose at the mention of my name. He turned to me with a warm smile, but that warm smile faded when his gaze caught the company alongside me. "Indeed," he said and watched his people closely. Few of the hunters within the crowd had disappeared when he had arrived but all that were there gave him their full attention. Despite what they believed, they respected his judgement more than his second's. "Away with the rest of you. You have duties to perform, do you not? I will settle this matter alone. And as for you, Cyrian-" The Keeper's Second's head dipped in sudden fear. "Leave us. We will speak of this later."

At his word, the crowd disbanded and Cyrian skulked back to the part of the camp he came from.

I let out a heavy sigh. Thank the Creators.

"Keeper Athrion," I said with a small smile, but my smile fell at the seriousness of his expression. "Keeper?"

"Elgar'shiral," he said in a more than formal manner. I winced. "What is the meaning of this? These shemlen? Why are they here?"

"It's a long story, Keeper. But we are here to see you. I am here to see you." I handed Assan's reign over to Cole and gestured with a hand to the open aravel. "Please, we need to talk."

Having noticed the urgency in my voice, Keeper Athrion ordered Senna to watch over my friends while he was gone, an order than she obeyed with a slight nod.

Amber light, cast from the flickering wisps encased in lanterns hung from the aravel's walls and covered the dark floor in quivering shadows. A Dalish banner lay discarded in the nook of the room, while the timbers of the walls were carved with intricate patterns and symbolic paintings of the Creators. Vials, tomes and other assortments filled the small shelves and tables, and roots and herbs of many varieties hung from the ceiling racks. The aravel was quiet inside with only the light creak of moving footsteps to disturb the silence.

"Elgar'shiral," the Keeper began. His old features softened and warm smile returned. "Aneth ara, emma'asha."

"Hahren." I grinned and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. "It is good to see you."

The Keeper chuckled lightly and patted my shoulder. "As I am you, dear girl. I did not realise I had been so missed."

"You have no idea," I whispered and reluctantly parted. A thought crossed my mind as my arms dropped to my side. I lowered my gaze.

"You seem to be troubled, dear girl. Has it been done? Has your curse been cured? Is this why you have returned?" His gaze was hopeful, almost pleading.

I reluctantly shook my head. "No. Ir abelas, Hahren. It is complicated."

Slowly, the two lines between his brows became deep burrows. The Keeper carefully lowered himself into the nearest chair and raised a trembling hand to steeple his chin. "You have come here for a reason other than to see me, I assume."

"Yes, I have."

"To go to the mountain, no doubt," he muttered, "for why come back if not cured or not to plunge yourself into darkness once more?" The Keeper's breath became weak and rugged. He pulled his sleeve up to stifle a cough, but the coughs took his breath away and wracked his body in shivers.

"Hahren?" I asked in a slight panic.

Coiled and tucked into his braided belt was an assortment of vials. Some were red. Some were black. He uncorked the smallest and emptied it into a bowl on the table. The bowl sizzled and spat, but after a moment calmed into a light green mixture. Keeper Athrion poured the contents into a cup and gulped it down in one swig. A grimace came shortly after. "I swear, if it wasn't for my old bones..." He shook his head and slumped back into the nearest chair.

"Hahren, are you well?" I whispered as he closed his eyes.

The coughing had stopped, at least for a time, and he allowed a small smile to curve his lip. "It is no matter, dear girl. Nothing to worry yourself over."

He was pale - paler than he had ever been before. I should have seen it sooner. The bloody red that rimmed his eyelids; the dark circles that lay underneath and the sweat that clung strands of hair to his forehead - it could only have meant one thing. "You're ill."

He let out a soft sigh. "I have been ill for some time, dear girl. It is a minor illness. Nothing to worry yourself over."

"You're a terrible liar."

"As are you." Once he had regained his breath, the Keeper straightened his back and took my hands in his. "Tell me you do not plan to go back there."

"I have to."

"Elgar'shiral, that is a place you swore never to return. What happened there, what happened to you... no. I will not allow it. Enough pain has been dealt to you. Forget it. Go back. Cure your curse and then return to us. You were never meant for any of this."

I looked away. "I... I cannot. Keeper, I need to go back there. My old master. He knows I'm alive. He knows I'm here. I've seen him in my dreams. Every time I wake I don't know if I'll find myself back in his control or in a dungeon somewhere left to rot."

His grip tightened around mine and when I looked up, I saw the fear behind his uncertain gaze. "What? This cannot be. No. You never touched the relic."

"No. Not once. Things happened at Skyhold but I never touched it."

"Then how can this be?" he asked in a short whisper.

"He said our connection was stronger than I thought. He could be lying, perhaps to fool me. Make me paranoid. I-I don't know."

"Only more reason for you to be cured," the Keeper said and rose to his feet. "He will not come for you once your power is gone."

"No, Keeper, he will. I'm his. In his mind, I'll always belong to him."

"You stopped being his the day you sought help in that temple all those years ago!" His voice echoed through the walls. He had gone a sickly white and the strain on his voice made his throat clench. Still, there was a coldness behind his gaze. He wiped away at the edge of his mouth and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and quiet. "All that's left are ghosts. Ghosts he murdered to get to you. Besides, there is something I have yet to tell you."

"Tell me?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"The Old Temple," he said. "The one you came to us from. Many months back, a group of hunters heard voices from within the ruin. It is a place full of misery and darkness, and sometimes evil tends to feed on the worst places. I went up to that mountain. I saw what was inside."

I felt a sharp pain within my chest. I ignored it. "And?"

The Keeper's next words cut through my mind as swift as a dagger. My fingers curled around the edge of his chair as he spoke. "A demon. A powerful demon that wards cannot dispel. It has taken two of the clan already. Two foolish hunters who thought they knew better. Elgar'shiral, you cannot go into that mountain. The horrors inside are better left be."

A demon. Out of everything, from wild beasts to bandits, I had not thought that a demon could have taken claim of the place. Considering what had happened there though, I could understand why, especially with the tear in the sky. "My companions haven't travelled all this way just to go back to Skyhold, and I know Solas. He will not leave until he has been inside."

The name caught the Keeper's attention. "Pride?"

"That is his name, Keeper. He is a capable mage and knows more about demons then anyone I have come across. He also is the one helping me with this." I tugged my sleeve back and showed him how much the scars had changed, how deep they had gotten and how little of my skin remained untouched. The Keeper simply stared at my arm, unblinking. "He believes that the ruin might hold something about this. That is where this all began, is it not? Where the power came from?"

"And where your kin fell. Is it truly worth it?"

"I have little choice. To end this curse, I need Solas. If he believes that something in that ruin could help, then I must go."

For many moments, no words were spoken. There was much to be thought over but in the end, the judgement rested with the Keeper. I could not go to the ruin without his authority. The hunters would only prevent my companions and I from going anywhere near it and, in the worst case, would drive us from the forest all together.

Just when I had begun to lose hope, Keeper Athrion turned to look up at the statue of Mythal, the Great Protector, from beyond the table. A curiously blank expression crossed his face. "Then take Senna with you."

"Senna?"

"Another hunter will not hurt your chances within the Old Temple. She may even bring you luck."

"And my friends?"

The Keeper turned back from the statue. "Your friends may stay for a time. I cannot guarantee that there will not be those within the clan that do not object, dear girl. Bringing shemlen with you was not the wisest choice of yours."

"I know," I said. "But I need them."

Knowing that our discussion was at an end, I gave the Keeper a respectful bow and stepped over to the aravel's parting. Before the gentle breeze of the outside touched my skin, I caught the quiet whisper of the Keeper. "Be careful, dear girl. There are worse things that what pride can bring."


	17. A Mighty Fall

_[Caution: violence in this chapter. Just so people know.]_

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Seventeen: A Mighty Fall

The entrance to the mountain stood a little way from the clan's settlement. Despite it being known as a mountain, it was more of a rocky mound, smaller than most mountains and its peek only snowed when the first frosts of winter took claim of the land, yet it had once been taller than any tree within the forest. The trees had expanded out since then and the path that had once climbed up to the mountain's peak was near impossible to find. Nature had taken root and guarded the way with thick brambles that not even the strongest spell could cut through. Knowing this, we chose to take a different route. One kept close to the mountain but not in look of the path. The ruin, after all, lay beneath the cliffs, not on the surface.

We walked on foot through the thick woodland, heading away from the overgrown paths to follow the light of the sun that blotched through the mass of nature above. Knotted branches twisted and curved, causing shadows to meet like crossing swords. The ground choked in fallen branches, long feathered ferns, deep mushrooms and buttress roots.

Solas stood upon one such root. His back was silhouetted against the sunlight and the trails of his cotton tunic stirred gently in the wind, while the wolf fur strapped around one shoulder stilled against it. With a hand rested upon the crown of his staff, he peered outward. "A mountain within the forest, you say?"

I dug my fingers into the wet earth and swept the dirt away to find a piece of cracked rock. Held up against the sunlight, the familiar spiral pattern glowed faintly in the pale blue-green of the lyrium-laced design. "That's right."

"I can see only trees. No highland to mark a mountain."

The rock left my fingers and I rose to my feet. "It's hidden by magic. It's an old elvhen ruin and some of the wards are still active." I looked over the thick gathering of trees further inland and pointed east. "See that cluster of trees? That's where the mountain begins. The spell causes the forest to grow around it, making it as if it wasn't even there."

"Interesting. And you say a demon lies within the ruin?"

"That's what Keeper Athrion claimed. It has taken two of the clan already, yet they may still live."

Senna made a scoffing sound. Her lips pinched as she inspected her arrowhead's tip. "You didn't see the tracks that were left, lethallan. If you did, you surely wouldn't be thinking that they still draw breath." Sheathing the arrow in her quiver, she dropped from the tall root and walked the ground. "Their bows were left at the entrance. The arrows they used were found in the rocks, so they were wasted, and as for their bodies, well, one's arm was hung rather nicely on the pillar several feet down the way, held there by a very familiar-looking dagger caught in the wrist." She made a quick gesture by slashing her wrist with a finger. "They're dead and if they're not, Andruil's mercy, they'd be wishing it."

"You seem to have a lack of pity for your fallen brethren, lethallan," Solas commented. His fingers dropped low down the staff to take a firm hold in the middle.

Another scoff. "They were idiots. Wanted to prove themselves as hunters and what did they do? Go to a place known to hold a spirit, naively thinking could kill the blighted creature with only the two of them. Damn lads were begging to be killed. Stupidity needs no pity."

"I see." He turned to me. "Da'len, did your Keeper mention what type of demon it is? It may prove helpful if we cross its path."

"He said his magic couldn't affect it if that helps. I'm guessing it's a strong one. It might be best to try and not gain its attention," I said.

Solas frowned. "That might not be possible."

With no hint of beasts or wanderers, the journey to the Old Temple was easier than we thought. It was simply finding the entrance that was difficult, but there was an old road that had ended close to the mountain and the entrance was only a small way from there.

"We should turn back," Senna said when the woods grew dark around us. The long fingers of dusk swept over the land, greying its colour. "The forest's dangerous when you can't see. Let's go. We'll come back in the morning."

The offer was tempting, but it was Solas who decided against it. He glanced at the sky in disinterest before he replied. "I can sense a power here."

"Power that's worthless if we're torn apart by angry beasts."

"We must be close. Turning back now will only waste our time."

Senna dug her feet into the ground, reluctant to move another foot. "We leave."

Solas did the same. "We stay."

"No," I said. Their bickering ceased abruptly. Heads turned to me quizzically. "There."

Tucked between two fallen trees and a sheet of hanging moss was a crack in a layer of rock. The crack grew wider as the moss in its tangled knots and rough texture was pushed aside. It was a crevice that journeyed up the expanse of the rock and deep into a hollow, wide enough to pass through. Jaras was the first to peer inside, followed by Senna, Solas and I. The others waited outside while we disappeared.

I strained my eyes against the chasm's lack of light, but then a soft tap caught the ground. In the crossing tendrils of Solas' wooden staff, a light green flame began to flicker and expand. The light grew into a shimmering flare that touched the blackest reaches of the underground chamber and covered them in its glow. The apostate smiled in content and gestured for the others of our company to pass through the crevice.

In cautious silence, we began to wander. The passage was just how I remembered it the last time I was there, though I was struggling to get out then and not in. _Fingers dipped into a clear, white surface, only to be pulled back by its sharp stings and bite. The world was dark, but a weak spell kept most of it at bay. I remembered crawling and grasping at the jagged edges of the walls, dragging myself out. I remembered the first touches of warmth upon my skin when the sunlight took my sight. Light and pale was the land. Not at all how I thought it would be. I knew what it was. Ice. Cold. Snow. Winter. A different land greeted me to what I knew, but in some sense, it was the same. _

The passage was long and seemingly endless with no hint of the ruin. It was the wrong choice to have listened to the apostate. I should not have been down there. I should have been back at Skyhold, away from the whispers that haunted my mind and the guilt that plagued my heart. If Cole had sensed either, he made no mention of it. It was something I was grateful for. The passage's walls expanded with each corer turned. Eventually, the path ended.

"How interesting," Solas commented when the walls changed from jagged and uneven stone to stone with shape and expert craft. It was straight and smooth with columns supporting a similarly crafted ceiling. It was the beginning of the ruin.

"But where to go?" asked Cole.

Varric gave a short nod. "The Kid's right, Chuckles. It's a dead end. No way through."

"This is as far as we got," said Senna. "The Keeper never got further then this wall."

Solas' gaze landed on mine. "Looks can be deceiving, as I'm sure Lahris knows."

I tensed at the mention of my name, but knew what the apostate wanted. A bronze torch rack hung against the wall ahead of us. Even after all that time, I was able to locate the slight groove behind the metal with my fingers. I pressed down, which detached the spell binding the wall's lock. The wall shook, groaned, swung inward and then glided across to rest against the chamber's stone. In its wake was a stairway that spiralled up in a long column to the Old Temple.

Solas leaned on his staff. "What did I tell you, child of the stone?"

The dwarf snorted. "Yes, because magically opening doors aren't creepy at all."

Ignoring Varric's comment, Solas casted his fingers over the torch and traced a sigil in the air. The torch crackled and gleamed. A flicker of the flame caught the corner his eye. My brows rose in surprise. Veilfire.

"What is that?" Senna asked cautiously.

Solas took the torch from its rack and handed it to her. "Veilfire," he said. "I have heard of it and seen it only rarely. It is a form of sympathetic magic. A memory of flame that burns in this world when the Veil is thin."

"When the Veil is thin?" she echoed. She clutched the end of the torch tightly and passed it along to Cole. "I care little about your magic, too bloody complicated, but if the Veil is thin, does that mean that demons are nearby?"

"Maybe that's why the demon has stayed within this place," I said. "Because the Veil is thin and this place has seen a lot of death. If the Keeper could not be rid of it, then it must be powerful."

Solas gravely nodded. "Indeed. Still, we must move on."

The ground became unlevel as we climbed the staircase. Many thoughts clung to my mind. Everything that I had tried to leave, everything I had tried to forget and everything I never wished to see was all so close. I could practically taste the iron tang in the air. Feel death's touch upon my skin. It worried me that the Veil was thin. Secrets might be learned that I did not wish my companions to know. There was no telling how the old magics of the temple would react to a demon's presence, or if the old magics were still active.

The stairway brought us to another passage, one of the ancient corridors that had been a home to the old priests. Statues of the ancient elvhen God lay tarnished and ruined as we walked. Many of the scriptures sewn into tapestries and displayed on bookcases and pedestals were little more than rubble amongst the debris. As the passages led on from one to another, I knew we were close to a place that held both sacredness and worth, but had also become a tomb to those I once knew.

The Inner Sanctum was vast, dark and echoing. The ceiling was veiled in darkness. The walls were shrouded in torn, dull banners and faded paintings with words and wisdom that could never be recovered. Weeds, travelling vines and decayed branches wormed their way through cracked paving, only to touch the base of the hall's corners. It was cold in the shadows, away from the pale light of the veilfire. It was like winter had receded deep within the temple while spring was held back by its outer walls. I used to like the winter, still did even after all that had happened, but the winter I felt then was one that brought no joy, calmness or happiness. It seemed to force the hope from my breath, only to crush it in its hidden claws. So silent. So haunted. All of the temple's former beauty was decay, yet the souls and their misery remained in each hollow whisper and showed on the red still stained into the floor.

I shivered as a breeze gusted into the hall from the large fracture in the ceiling. It was so wide and high that the moon and clouds could just be seen within. It used to be sealed. No cracks. No crumbling rocks lodged into the once even ground. No caved-in corridors or dust-filled shrines. It was a place of perfection once. Long ago.

My fingers grazed over the ornate banister, only for dust and grime to cover the tips. A new sense of fear grasped my throat when black wings reached out, passed my shoulders and slipped through the open ceiling. The raven mocked me with its call and easy escape. I held my breath.

_'Elfling...'_

I jumped back, only to find that there was nothing behind me.

"What was that?" I whispered and swallowed a sour rush of fear.

"The magic here is truly old. It almost gives the skin a tingle, wouldn't to say, Da'len?" Solas asked as he gazed upon the temple's weathered mosaics. His eyes glinted in awe and mouth curved. It was strange to see him act like that. Like he had found a forgotten world, one that gave him hope. "The mysteries this ruin must hold." His breath caught the cold, clouding his chin as he whispered, "Incredible."

With that he raised his hands, and bright green power sparked the light from his staff. The magic bound our feet and then breached off into the far corners of the temple. The chamber filled with a charge that tingled the skin and hummed within the skull. His reaction was second nature. The apostate really had ventured through many ruins.

I shuddered at the feel of the old magic when it responded and then sank deep into the earth. The old wards protecting the place were removed for a time so we could journey through unharmed.

"I sense no spirit's presence," the apostate whispered and rested his staff against the banister. "Whatever took your hunters must have gone."

Unconvinced, Senna tipped her bow forward. She pulled at the string. "I doubt that, flat ear. Something like that doesn't just disappear."

"Then perhaps it was a beast and not a demon."

Her arm paused. "You don't like the Dalish, do you?"

"They are not among the fondest people I have had the pleasure to meet, no."

"Well that's fine, because I don't have a likeness for flat ears either." She threw her bow over one side and headed towards one of the Inner Sanctum's arched doors. "Jaras, dwarf. You're with me," she called and rested her hip against the door's frame.

Dugan was half-way buried through his sack when he heard her. His beard caught the sack's rim as his head shot up. Squinting against the hall, he rested a lazy eye on the Dalish. "Wait, what? What'd she say?"

"I've been charged with finding the bodies of those hunters. You coming or not?" At the rumble of her voice against the walls, Senna looked around uncertainly, half in caution and half in fear. Her hip moved and the door parted with a heavy creak.

When her form disappeared, Jaras picked up the hilts of his swords and tugged Dugan by the hood. "Come on, lad. Might as well make sure she doesn't get herself into trouble."

"Suits me long-ear, so long as we get to look at the stone along the way," Dugan said and pulled at his sack.

"What is it with you and rocks?"

"What's it with you and swords? Eh? Don't know, do ya? You see, it's a way of life. You don't choose the stone. The stone chooses you."

Jaras slowly nodded. "Uh-huh. 'Ey! Senna, wait. We're coming along, lass."

By the time both the elvhen swordsman and dwarf had vanished from the Inner Sanctum, Solas had arranged various tomes around himself and had begun to inspect one of the temple's murals. It was one of the more intact layers with violet mosaic tiles displayed in a range of straight lines and curved edges. "So," he said as he ghosted a long finger over the mural, "how do you connect to this place?"

This place. He had no idea what he brought me to. "I've told you. We were employed to-"

"To find ancient elvhen relics, yes, I know. But if that were true, you would not be as intimidated by this place as you are now." He looked back. "I know Varhel was your master and I know that what you've told us, what you've told the Inquisition, is mostly lies."

My fingers twitched. Moments drew into longer moments and I dared not utter a word, at least not right away. "How did you-?"

"You mentioned that you worked for a mercenary company and yet neither you nor your friend have ever spoke of it, other than when needed. You also said that Varhel was a scholar that hired you, but how could he if he was your old master? A slaver? Your work with him could not have been voluntary, which lead me to believe that you created an entire lie in order to keep your past a secret. A reasonable idea considering the circumstances, though I do not think you thought it all the way through." His next words were said in a quieter tone, though it was not like Varric and Cole could hear us anyway. They had settled themselves in a remote corner of the Inner Sanctum and though Cole was too preoccupied with the veilfire to really notice things going on around him, it would take a louder voice for either of them to hear a word. "You know this ruin well. Well enough to be able to guide us through its corridors to this place. I will not ask you about your old master or about your past. That is yours to know. But I do need to know where this shard was found, if it was indeed here that it was found, and what experience you went through before you realised your power."

Despite my surprise, there was something about the apostate's demeanour that concerned me. "You're too calm about this." He must have found out about the lie long ago. "Why?"

"We all have our secrets, Da'len. Sometimes lies are needed and are better than the truth." Even though his attention had returned to the mural, I saw the wry smile offered in my direction.

I took half a step back and looked at him thoughtfully. He knew I had lied and had not told anyone, at least not that I was aware of. If he had, surely the Inquisitor would not have confronted me in the courtyard weeks ago about my past. There must have been some level of trust there. "Jaras and I never worked for the Poisonswords," I said slowly, which gained his attention. "Before the Breach, I came to the Dalish seeking aid. My power was uncontrolled. It was worse than the day you saw in Skyhold and almost killed me. It was Keeper Athrion who helped me control some form of it, made the power dormant for a time. He suspected it could be a temporary cure, one that would last so long as I stayed with the clan, but I never expected demons to pour out of the sky. When they did and when the tears of the Veil began to appear, it was as if the shard knew something had happened to the world. I could no longer contain the power and it grew painfully. Jaras and I left the clan in search of a way to cure it, if it was possible. The bursts of energy came about three times in our journey. Once in a human city. Once in a village and the last in Skyhold. The time the energy burst occurred in the village was when Varhel had found us. He burned the village to the ground, but Jaras and I hid in a tavern's cellar until he had gone. When we reached the surface, the village was ash, but we saw the bodies of three mercenaries. It was later that we found out that they were heading to a place called Skyhold. We had heard about the place and thought if anyone could help, it might have been them. So, we took their identity and hoped for the best."

"I did not expect that. It must have been hard for you." The way he looked at me was one of sorrow and understanding, not pity. I was sure of it, unless my eyes deceived me. It was not what I expected. Pity was. When I told someone a story, one that meant more to me that it did to them, and one I knew they would never go through in life, pity was their reply. To have another reaction was different. It gave me relief, if only slightly.

"You have no idea how hard my life has been, Solas." I sighed. "I just want this power gone."

"I understand. You know, saying that your power awakened when the Breach appeared does make sense. The spirit inside must have sensed the weakening of the Veil."

"I thought that to."

"It is interesting," he said and looked back at the wall. "Now, is there anything you can tell me about this place?"

I had to wonder what I could tell him other than what was already obvious. The temple was a cold, barren and shallow place. A place that welcomed death with each breath. Nothing like it once was. The statues, bowed on mountainous pillars, once were a comfort to see. Being back within the temple, having to see their faces weathered by the ages with moisture trickling down their hollowed cheeks like tears of pain for all that was lost, brought back the sense of abandonment and guilt I thought I had forgotten. The statues seemed to whisper and taunt. _'Abelas, da'elvhen. U, sulahn el'abelas. Ir em souveri. Na shiral felas. Hamin. Atisha, da'elvhen.'_

I shook my head and stared outward. Below the banister, the fabric of what had once belonged to the priests lay amongst mounds of dust. The last of the priests had lain there, never to awake. Only to stare into the ground and ceiling with eyes that rotted away, most likely in the hope to see their God before Falon'Din guided them from the world. There were no graves for them. No prayers for the departed.

"Da'len?"

"Hmm?" I leaned away from the banister. It was strange. I had almost forgotten where I was. "Ir abelas, what were you saying?"

Solas frowned. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"You seem distracted. Is it because of this place?"

"I said I never wanted to come back here. This place is obviously going to distract me."

"I know," he said. "There seems to be no demon and I am sure I can find my way around from here. You need not stay. You can leave, if you wish, but I will stay behind."

"Maybe. Perhaps I…" For a brief moment, I could have sworn I felt a touch across my neck; a light tap of a sharp point that pricked, but left no mark. I reached back but felt nothing.

"Da'len?"

"I..." A shiver pounded through my flesh and bones. Each twitch inched the cold into my skin, firming in its place and chilling the bone. "S-Solas, I cannot."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Why the sudden change of mind?"

"I-I don't know."

That was when his face fell into something dark and concerning. His voice took on a hard edge and fingers grasped my shoulder with one hand, while his other took a firm grip of my chin. His eyes searched mine, piercing, enquiring, and uncertain. "Lahris, do not move."

"What? Solas, what is it?" I tried to struggle, but his hold only tightened to an almost painful state.

"There is a presence here."

I blinked. "What? What are you saying? What does that mean?"

"Do not turn. Do not look. Stay perfectly still and listen only to my voice."

"Solas-"

"Listen only to me!" he yelled in a voice the closest to a growl he had ever uttered.

I jerked from his hold, from his safety and concern. His face became a shadow - an unfamiliar form that marked no features that resembled him_. _He was but a dark face with no meaning. A force pinched my neck. It jabbed into the muscle and clawed its other hand through my hair. I curled my shoulders in and listened, unable to resist._ "He knows who you are. Knows what you have done. He is tricking you. Deceiving you so he can sink his blade into your gut.'_

The voice pinched my neck again. My back arched.

_'Have you not wondered why he wished to come here? What brought him here? Why he brought you from safety's walls, into a place that no one knows? Don't you see, little elfling? It is his plan. He works with him. He works with your master."_

I gasped. My throat hacked as cold swept in, leaving it numb and unresponsive. Fear took over my senses. The darkness glinted against the light of my arm, of my magic. That's when I saw it. Pointed features. White hair. A silver finger against a dark robe.

_"He will kill you, but not if you kill him first."_

My head shook. _No, no that wasn't him, was it? How could he have found me? Had Solas truly betrayed my trust? Was he a trickster that brought me out of Skyhold?_

There was another grasp on my shoulders, but the hands were delicate and warm, not frozen. A light flashed across my eyes. It blinded me for many moments. I could hear the beats of my heart against my ears. And then, when the light receded into the corners, the dark form took on a pale face, high-cheekbones and blue eyes. Solas.

"Is she alright? Maker's breath, Chuckles. What's happening?" Varric's voice was the first for me to hear.

Cole swallowed. "It's here. I can hear it. Dark and silent. Waiting for the opportunity to strike. Misery and guilt makes you stay alive. It was here all along, but we never saw."

I shut my eyes tightly. The coldness seemed to no longer irritate my throat, but instead I felt lightheaded. "W... what's happening?"

A pressure around my wrist tightened. When I looked down, I saw the effect my fear had on my magic. A frosted spike was gripped firmly between my fingers. It was pointed at Solas' abdomen. It was so close that it touched his tunic. _Was that... me?_ I wondered. _Did I do that?_

"The demon." Cole's eyes widened. "It's here."

Solas' hold on my wrist tightened. He tugged me back and gestured to a stairway with the other hand. "We must go. Now."

Varric slipped an arm back to grasp Bianca."What about the others?"

"For now we must focus on ourselves. They're safe so long as the demon's here."

Unknown to what chased us, we ran. The temple blurred below and around me while the heavy thump of footsteps hammered behind. Solas continued to pull me forward as he raced ahead, his grip sweaty as we distanced ourselves further and further from the main hall.

As our feet met the stairway, a rush of air slammed into our chests. Our bodies flew back. Only the banister broke our fall.

A deadly chuckle echoed through the vast expanse of the temple and twisted our lungs into knots, unable to speak or even gasp. An ash-coloured form stood at the end of the stairway. It shook as its chuckle turned low and hoarse. It rose as a tangled mass of dark cloak and twisted ropes latched onto each wrist and ankle. The light of the veilfire, left abandoned on the ground, vanished in the flick of the demon's wrist. A hood covered the scarred skin that was both grey and loose. Black eyes glared beneath, but there was no nose, only a rack of sharp teeth and rodent incisors, partly hidden by the shroud on its arm.

Transfixed in horror, no one moved.

_"Ah, company. It has been so long since one of the living has entered my domain. How I hunger for fresh spirits," _the demon said. _"You look wary, little mortals. Long have you been without sleep. Why not rest? It would make things so much easier. Sleep, little mortals. Sleep."_

Panic swept through us all. Varric aimed. Bianca snapped. In a white flash, the bolt tore through the demon's cloak and disappeared into the mist behind.

Solas' body fell to one side. Crushed was his satchel and a feeble hand knocked his staff to the ground. His eyes flickered half-open."We must... not listen..."

Another flick of the demon's wrist and Solas was forced to lie back. His head hit the ground hard.

Already, Varric had fallen within the demon's spell. The edge of his crossbow hit the steps on the way down. His fingers twitched while his eyes slid shut.

Cole stood before us. His form rushed from one body to the next. His fists shook against the clothing of each person, but no one woke.

Quietness sank deep into my ears. The desperate calls of the spirit drowned out along with the sounds of my heartbeat and even my own voice. I felt my lips move. I felt my tongue stretch to try and sound out each word. Nothing was produced.

The demon's sudden smile was cruel. It extended its bony fingers through its long, torn cloths, and the light dimmed like a shadow had been cast upon the sun. It continued until all had withered and faded into a sightless, unfeeling dream.

...

"Ah, Sister Lahris. A pleasant noon, would you not say?"

My finger ceased moving at the edge of the page. Slowly, I looked up. The room was surprisingly light despite the hour in which I had first entered. The veilfire torches, hung in the five corners of the room, painted the floors in large green specks against the shadows of the torch racks. The light was partially thicker on the columns that arched up like rosewood into the ceiling, but between two of the rows waved the distinct staff of Elder Sa'belannar - gold imprinted with a blue agate stone on top. Though the staff was a sight to behold, a marvel of his status in the temple, the main use for it was to help with the Elder's limp, caused by an old wound in his left leg. The Elder faltered in his approach. His leg plagued him more than usual. Eventually, after many tiresome breaths, he managed to claim the seat by mine and tucked the edges of his black robe, especially the woven threads of silver and gold ends, beneath him.

"Speak, Young One," he said. "I may be old, but that does not mean I could not use the company of speech, or am too old to hear, or am at the stage to begin to have a conversation with only myself. My mind has not yet become a baffling thing that cannot remember."

"I didn't mean to offend, Elder. I was just caught up with my book," I said. "It is a pleasant evening."

"Indeed. I sometimes wander off away from the other priests to gather thought or simply to rest. I see you have the same frame of mind." It was only then that my mind caught onto the fact that both the Elder and I were the only ones within the study. The other priests must have either left to rest or were in the Inner Sanctum attending the shrines or in prayer. It was a good feeling though. How I hated the heavy scrape of chair legs against the ground. That sound always did grate against my fraying will to not burn every chair in sight.

"It is quiet around here."

"Indeed it is." He gazed down on my book. Thoughtfulness seemed to be the reason behind his expression. "Dirth ma [tell me], how has your studies been going? Have you learned from us here?"

"Yes. Quite a lot, in fact."

"Good. And have you considered my invitation?"

I bit my lower lip. "Yes, I have."

He inclined his head. "And? Have you come to a decision?"

"Yes and no, Elder. I do not wish it. Ma serannas, but it is not for me."

"Ma nuvenin [As you wish], Sister. It would be wise to do so, though. Our lord has granted you protection, but it would praise him more to see you expand your knowledge and claim your place beside us. You have been with us for only a short time, young one, but it is enough to see our ways. You show promise to Dirthamen."

"Promise?" I asked and folded the book in my lap. "Has he spoken with you or the Higher One? Has he said what will happen to me?"

"His guidance was as clear to us as far as we can see. To protect you, in case your master returns. Be at peace. He will not find you here, so far away from his domain. This temple has stood here for many centuries and only few know its location."

"Yes. I suppose you're right. It has been a long time since I have felt safe."

"As I am not surprised," he replied with a saddened sigh. "Still, remember, though your cause is not yet clear, that does not mean you have no duty to uphold. Dirthamen enaste sulevin. [Dirthamen favours purpose] Our lord has a reason for your life."

"I know that. It is worrying, but if it keeps me from my master, then I am happy to agree."

"Good. Very good."

We both heard the loud boom of a closed door and looked ahead. When the sound receded from the temple, I glanced down at my satchel and unlaced its folding. "Elder, what of this?" I had been meaning to ask the question for some time, but had never gotten round to it.

The Elder's brows crinkled at the object in my hands. "The shard you took from your master? I am not sure. Whatever that may be, it is important for you to hold onto it, otherwise our lord would have taken it from you."

"I'm not sure what it is supposed to do, though. It just looks like a stone placed with glass."

"Have you wondered if that was its intention? None here are wise enough to know our lord's mind, Sister. Not even the Higher One."

I placed the shard back into the satchel and sealed it. "I suppose."

"Do not worry, Young One. Now, come. Walk with me to the Inner Sanctum. Your brother wishes to speak to you."

I looked up then. My heartbeat hastened in anticipation of his answer. "Feren?" Has he returned?"

"It seems he could not leave you for long, Sister." The Elder smiled and offered me a hand. I took it and tugged my satchel tight over my shoulder. "He worries, but all older siblings do from time to time."

"It has been ten years," I said. Together, the Elder and I headed out of the study and into the long corridor.

"I know. Such short time, but it seems like longer, does it not?"

"Honestly, it felt like a century."

"It may have, but there is no need to fear. He is here, safe as you are."

It was not long before we had reached the Inner Sanctum's doors. The chants of the priests could be heard from within. Their moans were low and easily heard, even to the most insensitive ears. They prayed for Dirthamen's blessing, for his insight and wisdom and to reassure him that he had their eternal devotion. It was rare that any priest gained an answer from the God of Knowledge and Secrets. It was even rarer for anyone outside of the temple to gain an audience with him. Sadly, that was one of the reasons why so many of the priests scorned me, even though I had spent ten years learning their ways. Despite not truly wanting the God's attention but knowing it was he who was responsible for my new life, I supposed having his awareness was not as bad as I had initially thought, though whether the God's favour was a gift or a curse, I had yet to decide.

"Lahris!" a familiar voice called from out of the shadows. He stood in the centre of the large hall, below the banisters and in front of the statue of Dirthamen. It seemed that he had taken his time into looking at the scriptures before my arrival.

"Feren!" Before my brother could utter another word, I had leapt through the space between us and hugged him tightly. " Eth'shiral arla?" [Safe journey home?]

Feren laughed. "Missed me, did you?"

I playfully swatted his arm. "Not really. You weren't gone long enough for me to miss that ugly face of yours." We parted, but the large grin I had faltered at the troubled look he tried to hide. "Feren? What's wrong? You look troubled."

His eyes widened at the claim. "Troubled? No, I am fine. Honest." I slowly began to realise that he had changed. He looked like he had aged, if that was possible. Dark circles lay beneath his green eyes rimmed red. His black hair, similar to mine except for the slash of grey streaks, lay dishevelled in a high bun and the fat from his cheeks had disappeared, leaving his cheekbones sunken and defined.

Knowing I was unconvinced, he took my arm gently and tried to guide me into a corner away from the priests. He lowered his head to my ear. "Look, mind coming with me for a moment? We need to speak. Alone."

My arm left his hold. "Why? Has something happened?"

"I'd rather not say it with the priests here."

Elder Sa'belannar leaned a hefty gauntleted arm against the ridge of his staff. "If there is news, I would rather hear it now then learn later from your sibling."

Feren frowned. "I need to take Lahris away from here."

"And why would that be? What have you done?" asked the Elder accusingly. "She has settled within the temple nicely. Why risk her safety outside our walls?"

Again, Feren tried to take me away. "Lahris, trust me."

"You haven't told me what's going on," I said.

Elder Sa'belannar used his staff to part us and took a long stride to properly face Feren. "The girl's correct, Feren. You have not."

Feren stumbled back. Something was wrong, that I was sure of. His eyes were downcast and the lower he held his head, the more raven strands covered his face, and the less of himself was able to be seen. "By Elgar'nan, Dirthamen and the rest of the blighted pantheon, do you seriously need to know now?"

The Elder calmly nodded. "Indeed, I do."

My brother's fingerless gloves caught each other. The palms swept the back of each hand's skin shakily. "On my way back, I saw movement within the forest. An army. Many warriors of the arcane, all headed here."

It was the Elder's turn to frown. "Under what pretence? Under who's authority? This is a sacred place. None would dear touch its grounds, unless-"

"This is no ordinary elvhen, Elder. Lahris, we need to go."

"Why?" I asked. "Feren, I do not understand. Who's coming here? What army?"

"I believe I know." Before I could understand what either elvhen meant, Elder Sa'belannar had stepped away from us and pointed back to one of the Inner Sanctum's doorways. "You must take her. Quickly. There is a path known only to few. It leads into the forest. It will keep you safe. I will gather the others. We will seal the halls and gather the sentinels. They will sort out these warriors of the arcane."

"Feren," I stammered. The implications of what he and the Elder spoke of made my blood turn cold. "Tell me now who is out there, o-or I will not move."

"Lahris, now isn't the time to be stubborn." He reached out.

I pulled back. "Tell me-"

"Lahris-"

"TELL ME!"

Then from the chamber's long locked door arose a howl of rage and power. The glassy wards that protected the Inner Sanctum had been breached. The magic sparked and shuddered. The hinges creaked and then a knock, loud and ear-piercing, forced the door apart. Almost instantly, the light of the hall dimmed and the vision of my surroundings wavered, as if a dream was about to alter.

The temple shook as the earth rumbled at the old memory, moaned as if it was in denial of its change. Black smeared the crossing stones of the walls and once-bright murals. The blackness rippled as it crawled up to the ceiling's long beams, only to morph and drape into long tangled moss and webbed, fleshy roots. The dead lay everywhere - robes left flat and soaked in the shallow pools of ice water dyed red. Jaws were left slack. The bones of fingers curled inward beneath sagged cuffs. They looked like they had been dead for many years, but that could not be. The form of my brother with a hand bent outward, ready to push me away if needed, and the rough hold of my shoulder by Elder Sa'belannar could only have happened moments ago. The surroundings had aged, but the moment continued.

There, poised above the shattered fragments of the door, stood the one elvhen that claimed my nightmares, held the key to my fear and made my feet stumble over themselves, only to fall into the hold of the Elder, clutching his robes as if some frightened child.

"Get her out of here. Get her somewhere safe," Feren whispered and waved his staff forward. A shimmering barrier of magic erupted and pushed through the air, only to end a breath's width away from my old master's face.

"Come, Sister. You must leave." The Elder tried to usher me out. Even to go as far as to grasp my other shoulder to distract me from the scene being played out. His voice rose in urgency. "Sister, you must move. There's nothing you can do for him. Stay and you both die!"

"Brother-" I sobbed. Yet I allowed the priest to take me away. Take me further and further into the darkness of the temple while the arcane warriors clashed their shields together into an unending wall around my master's back. Their weapons hacked the steel. The steady drum of the brutal battle chant echoed down the temple's long, lifeless corridors, only to grow louder and louder as grunts, cries and the deep rumbles of magic joined it. Flashes of green, amber and red touched the tunnel's edge, but did not follow.

A sharp gasp. Heavy laughter. Then nothing.

My heart stopped dead. No. It was not possible. Not again. He couldn't be. _Feren..._

I was not aware of my movements or truly where the Elder had led me to. I only wished to sink to the floor and allow the earth to swallow me whole.

"Sister? Young One, look at me."

The Elder's voice was but a light whisper in my ear. There was enough concern in it to get me to look up, but that was all. He stared down in pity and looked at the dirt that streaked the back of my hands and knees. He must have dragged me at some point. Scratches and burns covered my knuckles in dried crimson.

The Elder had guided us into a small room, one with no paintings or murals. It was simply an empty place, stone covered stone, with only a wooden table left on its side at the back. My spine was pressed up against it, but it was the only stable form I had to help against the tremors that wracked my every muscle.

"Listen to me closely." He took my chin in hand. It was gently directed to the parting in the wall. "This will not stay closed lest someone closes it from the outside. You must stay here. Must stay safe. Our lord would not wish you to die, now, would he? No. You cannot. You're too important. To him and me.

The meaning of what he meant slowly sunk in. "Elder..." I rasped. My throat stung as the sobs took my voice. "You'll die."

He sighed heavily. "I have lived long enough, Sister. Death does not fear me."

"But-"

"My apologies, young one, but this must be done." My hand drifted from his as he stood tall. The Elder's back turned as he limped over to the parted stone. "Do not leave unless you are absolutely certain that he has gone, you hear?" he said. "Do not open it."

As the stone began to rumble and shake, the parting narrowed until it was but a crack to peer through. Before the stone sealed completely, the Elder gave me one last smile, a little in encouragement, and one in a last farewell. The light went out and I was left in darkness.

Moments felt like hours since any sound had passed through the room. In the darkness, odd shadows were thrown by the weak glow of my spell. The smell of death was so strong in the air that I could almost taste it on the tip of my tongue. The blood must have run in rivers across the temple's floor. Bodies must have taken claim to every corner and rats in every crevice. It was my fault. The death of all those priests. The death of my dear brother. The death of the Elder. Of everyone. It was all my fault. Tears flowed down my cheeks in silence, yet as the sobs grew in urgency, pain flared up my side, causing my arm to clutch around it tightly. It was only when my hand fell into my lap that I saw it. Blood. Thick and dripping in between my fingers. My entire being froze in fear.

No. It could not be. Not after all that time. Not after going through everything I did to survive. No!

It must have been some cruel jest of fate for me to die in a tomb. To have to wait for Falon'Din to find and claim my spirit when I died, either from my old master if he found me, from bleeding or, if fortune smiled, starvation. By the Creators, perhaps that was why Dirthamen sent me to the temple. Perhaps he knew, in his own cruel way, what would happen. That I could never escape my old master. That I was doomed to be and die a slave. A small part of me believed that it was what I deserved. I had done things that not even Mythal could forgive.

_But why would Dirthamen save me? _I had to wonder. _Why would he go through such great effort if only for me to die in a place that no one would find?_

_'Because you deserve your fate, little elfling,'_ whispered a voice. I was too tired to wonder who it was. Too plagued with guilt and heartbreak to do anything but listen. _'Remember your brother's voice when your master struck his heart. Feel the fear of your Elder as his body was pulled into flame's embrace. Remember all those you killed in name of survival, blaming your master for the order, but knowing you enjoyed the thrill of a life between your claws. You are the reason. You are the murderer. You, little elfling, are responsible, and only __**I **__can be your salvation.'_

"That's not true," said another, but his voice was different. It was thin and weak. Not as clear as the previous but was kind and gentle.

"Da'len." Another joined it. "Not real... Listen... Cole... Focus..."

"It's difficult," said Cole. "I've changed... too human... he's too strong..."

"Da'len, do not listen... be free... stay strong..."

"Enough!" raged the first voice. The walls trembled and dust burst from the ceiling in a rain of powder.

"Cole? Solas?" I coughed. "What is happening?" _Did they say demon?_

_'I see your friends have found a way to breach my world. No matter. There is no saving you, little elfling. Not here. Not when I'm so close,' _said the demon in a voice that lacked any kindness.

"W-who are you?" I asked the void.

Only cruel laughter replied.

I wasn't sure what strength within prompted me to question the demon further. "They said you were a demon. What demon?"

A throat-ripping shriek pierced the silence. I winced, only to hear the demon's next words. _'I am a whisper in the shadow. A tear upon the cheek. A darkness in the mind. I harden the ice in your heart. I am the burn inside your throat. I am the whimper in your voice when you ask death a question, and I am that question's answer.' _Coldness seeped into the room, along with a dank and foul odour that replaced the smell of blood. _'You are a mystery. But all mysteries can be cracked. So many fears. Ripe for the picking. You fear loss, but only because loss leads to loneliness. Loneliness leads to pain. Pain leads to chains. And chains... lead to death. ' Another laugh. A savage jest that amused only him. '__**Death.'**_

'Survival is your song,"

it taunted._ "Your call. Death is the loss you feel, but is the trait that binds you. You fear death. You allow those around to fall, only for you to crawl out of the cracks. Is there anyone you will not sacrifice to keep yourself alive, little elfing?'  
_  
"No. You're not. It's trying to get to you. Don't let it." It was Cole. I wanted to smile, to hope that it was truly him and not some false being of my imagination. "It wasn't your fault. They fought him willingly. To protect a place they believed in. You did not ask them to die. You shouldn't feel guilty about their deaths."

"Oh, Cole. If only that were true," I uttered in barely a whisper and glanced down at my hand. More blood. It seemed to grow brighter as time passed.

_'You are a pain in my side,'_ shouted the demon. The room shook again. _'Be gone! Leave my world so I may drink my prey in peace.'_

I listened and waited. There was no voice. I did not feel either Cole or Solas' presence. They were gone.

Fearing of being alone, I called out to the demon. "You're a fear demon, aren't you?"

_'From the shadows, I crave the tears of the weak, whimpers of the strong,'_ it said. _'I thirst for the misery that only pain can bring. I lavish in its juices. I am no fear. But despair, I am named. And you, little elfling, have much to tempt.'_

"Despair?" I had never heard of that one before, though it made sense. The death I had to see. The guilt the demon made me feel. It was savouring each taste. Relishing in my despair. I was its victim, its meal. And yet I continued to drink its poisoned words. I continued to feel its claws clench my throat and tug. I thought back to my brother, to the Elder and of those priests that still lay in the Inner Sanctum. In the real world they had been dead for centuries, but in my nightmare they were real and their corpses still warm.

"I never died here," I said.

_'And how would you know? Is the pain you feel real? Does the wound in your side drain your strength? If I were to open that door, would your master not come through? You may not have died, but I can make it so real that you will never doubt.'_

"But there was more. More but it's difficult to remember."

Despair's tone took on an edge: confusion. _'Remember?'_

"There was a light." My head rested against the ground. The coldness pressed firmly against my cheek. "A bright light. It reminded me of the stars." Against the void-black of the room, wisps did spark, flicker and flash into a violet flame.  
_  
'Stars?'_

"And a voice. A soft voice." The flame brightened and moulded into the shape of a being - of a woman. Her steps were slow and graceful, too proud and noble in standing to be human. The trails of a dress caught the edge of a wind that was not there. Her steps were purposeful and driven. "It sang to me. I was lying on the ground dying when she called out to me. It wasn't possible. She was murdered and yet she returned. She found me. Sang to me as my body lost feeling."

_'What's happening?' _Despair demanded. It was meant as a threat, but it had no impact._ 'What are you doing, elfling?!"_

She looked like my mother. The sharp curve of her cheeks and edge of her chin were distinct enough to recognise, but the glow in her eyes spoke of more. Spoke of strong, forgotten magic. It felt like it was a part of me, but twisted into something so much more. She settled her knees by mine. Long fingers reached out. Warmth caressed my cheek and stroked my hair. It must have been an illusion, perhaps a trick of the demon. And yet I could not help but allow my muscles to relax and to allow the woman to caress my soul into a calm, dream-like state. A sorrowful tune passed her lips as she sung. A tune amongst many that told of a forgotten land that was as ancient as the very scales of a dragon. Her voice was so gentle and soft, different to how I remembered my mother sing, and yet the song she chose was the same one that I had heard so many times as a child. It was a lullaby of protection, one that left promises of keeping ill omens and dark spirits away, a promise never to be alone, even at the worst of times when the world felt dead and there was no life worth living. It was one of the few cherished memories I could remember without pain or regret.

Perhaps she was a spirit. Perhaps she was the one trapped within the shard trying to speak out. Feeling gradually left the lower half of my body, and yet I allowed it. The shell of white trailed up from the heels of my boots to the beginning of my leg in many tiny flecks that glowed brighter and brighter as the magic pulsed. There was a taint to the ice, a magic that was my own. The ice was a barrier and a protector, not created as an end. The spirit continued to sing. Each time she grew more radiant. The longer it went, the more of myself drifted from the nightmare, was lifted from the despair that caged me and brought into something more. Strength weakened, as did the rhythm of my heartbeat. And then I saw it.

I forced my ice-locked arms to bend and reach. My hands limply searched the darkness as the voice continued to sing. They touched something light and smooth. The shard. The markings of my arm shone a faint glow. The woman lifted my head to hers. She looked down through sun-lit eyes. A smile on her face.

Then the smile died. The warm eyes turned cold. The violet star, the spirit of a woman with another face, was gone. I was back against the ground. Alone. The breaths came as poor clouds, only to disappear into the surrounding black. The warmth dwindled. As the layers of skin accepted the pale and light sheen of the ice, I took one more lasting look at the shard clutched in my hand. It released a slight shimmer of violet in the midst of the rising shadow. My last breath was slow but not painful. The frost bound us both together in ice for over a thousand year dream.

...

Whispers, groans and mutters filled the space around me. An ache twisted and pulled at the right side of my skull like two hounds that fought over a rack of ribs, neither able to prevail yet both unable to give up and leave me at peace. Though, it was not half as bad as the ache that coursed through my chest and shoulder. Through the haze, I couldn't quite pin-point where it came from, but the steady throbs felt more real at the base of my collarbone than the usual scars of my arm.

My vision was blurred at first and swayed from one side to another. Though, once my mind started to clear, my attention centred upon the grim, barely moving figures that lay around me. One by one, the men gained consciousness and rested elbows on knees. Their minds were wracked with questions and confusion.

"Andraste's flaming knickers," groaned Varric as braced his forehead with a heavy hand. "What just happened? I could have sworn I had the strangest dream... wait a minute. I'm a dwarf. I don't dream. Shit. What creepy magic shit has happened to me now?"

"A spell we were all bound under," replied Solas as he used the edge of the banister to force himself to his feet. "I believe this demon is more powerful then we feared."

Cole let out a heavy sigh. It seemed that during our unconsciousness he had stayed by our sides, waiting for us to wake. "Finally."

"Cole, how much time has passed since we slept?" asked Solas.

The spirit held out a hand and helped me to stand. "Hours."

"Then what could have ended the demon's hold of us?" That was when the apostate saw me. He watched my movements carefully, as if deducting what had happened and how much the ordeal had affected me. "How are you faring, Da'len?"

"I could be better. I feel like I had been hit by a horse, and then thrown down a mountain." I cursed under my breath. My gaze moved around the hall. The Inner Sanctum was the same as it was before, a dark and decayed ruin. "This is real, right? You're all here. This isn't another trick of the demon?"

A hand rested on my shoulder. "This is real," he said. "It must have been you that the demon focused its power on. With you out of its control, the rest of us were too much for it to manage. You brought us back into this world."

"I heard you," I whispered. "Both you and Cole."

Realisation caught the apostate's features and he bowed his head. "Ah, yes. It took only a moment for me to realise where I was. With the help from Cole, I was able to speak to you. Alas, the demon proved too strong for us alone. I hope I was some help."

"You were. You both were."

Cole smiled at that. I never did understand what it was about the spirit and helping people that gave him some sort of happiness in life. It was a strange concept, but perhaps that was all a spirit wished in life. To help others.

"There you are," came Senna's voice. She entered the hall from the arched doorway, seemingly frustrated, though at what no one was sure. Jaras and Dugan sluggishly followed. Her head cocked to the side at the state of us. "What happened to you four?"

"Where were you?" I asked.

Senna tiredly rubbed her brow and gestured to Jaras. "_He_ got us lost. We've been trying to find our way back for hours now. Well done, Jaras. You're as good at finding your way out of places as you are at hunting. I find it difficult to imagine how you managed to live in the shemlen lands with this one around, lethallan."

"Whatever, lass, but it was our stone expert over here who couldn't tell one corridor from another. Talking about useless," muttered Jaras.

At the mention of both his name and the insult, the old dwarf forced Jaras down by the throat of his tunic and glared him in the eye. 'Ey! Now don't go blamin' me for your mistake. This place ain't Orzammar. It's racist thinkin' all dwarves can find their way round tunnels and other places. We're not all good at that."

Jaras frowned and forced the dwarf away. He straightened out his collar and dusted off the dirt from his sides. "Hold your tongue, lad. You know I meant nothing by it."

Varric cleared his throat. "I don't mean to be the bringer of bad news, but what did happen to the demon?"

At the silent stare of everyone in the room, the dwarf elaborated. "I mean, we did kill this thing, yeah?"

Slowly, Solas brought a hand back to catch the base of his neck. "I... well..."

From out of the Inner Sanctum came an earth-shattering screech of rage. The terrible scream shattered the temple apart, crumbling pillars, statues and columns. The rupture above split further and caused the rock of the mountain to hail down in thick clusters.

The fogged breath of the temple spirited through the broken ruin in a waft of grim-grey mist. A dark cowl and shackled body hovered above. It's teeth curled back in disgust. _"You should have stayed in my realm where you belonged, mortals! Now, I have no choice but to end your lives, just as I have done the others who came here." _

The demon cackled suddenly. Despair spread its shackles wide to the two forms behind it. They were animated bodies, rotten with crisp flesh and bone blackened.

I held my breath at the sight.

Senna, however, clicked her tongue. "And there are the hunters I was supposed to find. Seems I was right about them being dead."

Jaras crossed his arms and caught the hilts of his blades. His fingers curled around them. "More like undead, lass."

"How am I supposed to tell the Keeper about this? At the end of this, there'll be nothing to bring back."

Varric's crossbow creaked as it was cocked and aimed. "How about we focus on killing the undead first before they kill us?"

The animated corpses seemed to react to the movement, dragging themselves forward and drawing their bows back. Only one corpse could not. The edge of its shoulder moved, but with no arm, it merely held its bow high like a blade.

Before anyone could move, dark magic curled around Despair's talons and was thrust high above. The ceiling rumbled once again. The earth shattered beneath us as pelts of stone pounded the ground, splintering the banisters into thousands of tiny pieces.

We all jumped back. Powder drifted from above and covered the ground in sand. It took many moments before the cloud of dust had settled. In front of us all was the ceiling remnants, angled edge-first into a long, uneven barrier that sliced the Inner Sanctum in two.

"Great. Now what?" asked Varric.

"There's another corridor that leads to a place behind the demon," I said. "We can take that way around and fight from there."

Solas considered the idea for a moment before he answered. "Then show us the way."

The corridor I had in mind was one that passed through several others, but was the quietest and easily moved through. It met many open halls with patterns hidden by the gloom. The Old Temple, despite seeming small, was a vast ruin with many places the old priests used to commune to their God. However, over the centuries, many of those corridors had caved in and rooms left empty. Fortune must have smiled down on us as the corridor we took was still intact. Eventually, we had reached the end of the passage and had come to a doorway cracked open.

Solas and I looked at each other with concern when we reached for the corner of the doorframe and peered through. There were moving shadows within the temple, stray wraiths among the wreckages, still intact balconies and collapsed mountain rock. During our absence, the demon must have summoned more spirits from the Fade to fight for it. In doing so, it twisted them into horrid creatures that were beyond imagining in the innocent places of the world. Some appeared as mere spectres floating from one path to another. Others were long, gaunt bodies, green in colour and with devouring mouths that ranged from their heads to their chests. They had not noticed us yet.

"How are we supposed to fight all those? There's too many," I whispered.

The apostate cursed in elvhen. "Perhaps if Cole was to go through first? The demons will not notice his presence and he can take his place behind Despair while we distract the others."

"I can do that," was all Cole had said before his body disappeared without a trace.

I blinked and looked between us all. It seemed Solas and Varric were the only ones not surprised by the spirit's action. "I really need to learn how he does that."

Senna stepped out from us and peered around the door's frame. "Do you still know how to create blizzards, Lahris?"

"Yes?" I said.

"We could use that for cover. Jaras, Dugan and I can slip straight through with no demons knowing where we are. The rest of you can move to the rocks over there." She pointed to the right-hand of the Inner Sanctum.

It seemed like a good plan. At least it was when it was thought over.

I crouched to get a better view of the hall.

"It occurs to me that you do not use a staff," Solas pointed out.

"I've learned to cast spells without it. I've had to. Anyone walking around with a staff is bound to cause attention as a mage," I said. Having noticed that the demons had spread themselves further from Despair then intended, I decided that it was best to incapacitate them and leave Despair for Cole to handle. Carefully, I pressed my hand against the damp floor. In my mind, I tried to sense each demon's location, hear their groans and feel their essence of the Fade. Then, my eyes opened and the mist rose above the demons into a thicker, denser mist. Snow began to drift from above in a slow, gentle manner and it was as if the demons had not even noticed its change. That was until the snow hit at a swifter pace. It billowed into an uncontrolled storm. Its impact morphed into thick hail. The sheer force clung to and enshrouded anything it could. The storm snagged the demon's shadows, fading them into the white sheet without mercy. Dugan, Jaras and Senna took their chance. They disappeared deep into the hall.

With the demons distracted, the rest of us entered what was left of the Inner Sanctum and braced ourselves against the spell's fury. Once the spell had lifted, the ice returned to water and the hall was left with two less demons. Their bodies were unresponsive against the ground. Despair had noticed something was wrong.

_'Mortals,' _it said._ 'You have dared to return. No matter. There is nowhere in this temple you can hide!'_

At Despair's command, the demons spread out in search of the hall's furthest reaches. One by one, each demon was splintered by arrows and spells. Senna's assault was directed from the top of a still-intact ledge, while Dugan and Jaras took turns in slicing their foes with both blades and axe, of silver and iron. Behind the expanse of fragmented rock stood the rest of us. The air sparked to life at the battle. Bolts of frost and Fade magic encompassed the hall in a fiery display of will and power. My hands danced against each other in a cast of white and blue. The cold further embraced my magic. Each spell was made stronger than the last. My blood surged at the cold's effect. My senses spun.

Then, as the demons fell prey to the attack, mounds of dust, left scattered along the temple's floor, morphed into a tempest of sand. Arms clenched the open world with sharp claws. It was then that I realised. It was not dust but ash. The ash hardened into thick bones and a stony skull, twisted around a flaming body.

Senna was the first to speak. "What in Andruil's name is that beast?"

"Ash wraiths!" called Solas. "Be wary. These are not the simplest of foes."

Though the cold took effect, their bodies were too nimble to catch. Like eels the wraiths twisted from our attacks. The spells reflected off their bony exterior in waves. Calloused, twisted arms shielded their hearts of flame. They slithered close. We mages stammered back. There were four demons in our wake. Four beasts as wild and fearsome as any enraged creature from the Beyond. Their claws reached into the ground, pulled and dragged. Their movements quickened until they were practically within our reach.

In one swift glide of his staff, Solas had harnessed the energies of the Fade, using its essence to tear open a rift in air. The rift was a temporary tear in the Veil, one that slipped out long, glowing tendrils to smother the demons in a binding hold. The ash wraiths howled out as the rift sucked them back into the centre of the hall. There, their arms were ripped. Their flame left exposed. The spells I cast hit their mark. The fire extinguished from the wraiths in a blinding wisp of wind. Their bones clanked against the temple's floor along with a mound of fine powder.

But I'd never heard the startling growl behind. Never noticed the long claw reached high. Another ash wraith. That time I was too late.

In the demon's seething wake, it had caught the hem of my underarm. It pulled the taut fabric. The claw whipped back tinged in dark crimson. My blood.

A shudder of pain coursed through my arm as blood sluiced the rupture of burning flesh like sweat. Bent over and clutching it with my other arm, I struggled to keep still at the sharp stings the wound brought. Another strike of pain. A slash across my side. With it, the last of my fight was leached away. My eyes flickered - grew heavy. Exhaustion and blood loss took a firm hold.

Through the haze, the wraith's face glared down. The humour it found from my weakness disturbed me to no end. Then it leered from one side of its face, scarred and notched from the beatings of magic. He swung his claw. I took in a deep breath and steeled myself for the reaction.

Despair chuckled. Its skeletal toes barely grazed Dirthamen's alter. Wafted by it's cursed enchantments, its robes folded and flicked against the alter, while its shackles rattled in an outward gesture. A proud guttural laugh more than beckoned me to fight back. _'You should have obeyed me," _it said. Despair's venomous words echoed like a deep under-croft._ 'Cease your fighting, little elfing. I have already won. Come. Know what it is truly like to face death!'_

He was right. All around, my companions were amid a battle they could not beat. Upon the ledge, Senna's arrows bounced off the demons that's shells were too thick to pierce. Arrows of the dead hunter inched closer to her after each shot. It caused her to fall back to cover while the demons took advantage of the distraction. The stone-serving dwarf swung his axe back and forth, but as the demon bodies piled, more came from the temple. Varric had taken refuge upon one of the ceiling's fragments, but even then it was only an amount of time before he was taken. And Solas. The mage called out to me. Begged me to stay strong while he fought against the growing hoard.

And then I heard it. A cry of pain. The clang of steel against the ground.

"Jaras!"

The elvhen's body collapsed in a heavy display of trembled arms and ragged breaths. A spasm of pain contorted his features. A part of me shivered. I had never witnessed him in such a state. Disarmed, he was nothing but weak prey for the demons. He seemed to know it. Weakly, Jaras reached out, as if to halt the moving hoard that closed in on him, only his strength did not last. The maimed arm wavered and then crumpled onto his bloodied chest. For a long moment, his gaze caught mine. There was something there that I had never before seen in his eyes. An emotion I never thought existed with him. Fear. He was going to die.

I could scarce breath for the emotions that surged through my chest – anger, horror and disbelief. It could not be it. There had to be something I could do.

_'And now, little elfling, I shall feast on your despair. Drink and savour each drop as your friends are cut down before your eyes, one by one.'  
_  
Something kindled inside me. A power that burned my very veins, more so than the wounds. It was almost instinctive. When I looked down, I saw for the first time something I was grateful to see. The black scars of my skin began to glow a faint, violet light against the blood. The glow thrummed with a pulse and spark. I was not going to die that day, and neither were my friends.

Despair seemed to notice something had changed. The other demons sensed it from their higher being. Despair crept forward. What little of its rodent-like face showed had stilled to a knife-edged wariness.

And without any knowing of how or when, the glow burst from the seams. All that could be heard were the wail and thunder of the power relinquishing its hold from my body, and my screams.

Blood flowed from my eyes, nose and mouth. I did not care. The bitter iron only fuelled my determination for the demon to be gone. The sudden flood of power sent my body to the ground, wracked in violent quakes.

...

There was shouting. Tugging. Dragging. For a moment I thought it was Feren. Had hoped that in some way I had found him, or he found me. But then I opened my eyes and saw Solas' worried face, staring back. "Lahris?"

The Inner Sanctum was silent of rage and magic. I wasn't sure how long I had been unconscious, but with the apostate's look of relief, I could only imagine that it was for some time and that something had happened for the demons to be gone. I lay in a hollow of ash and broken rock. Remnants of sparks ringed my body - lit the areas the moon had not. There was not much of the ceiling left. It allowed the moonlight to shine through unhindered. Bones burning and chest heaving, I staggered to my feet. At a sudden drop, Solas' hand caught my waist while the other brought my arm over his neck. "Steady now," he said. "Take slow steps."

"I feel ill." A rush of nausea hit me like an oncoming wave. My knees gave in at the slightest step, which led to the apostate's hardened hold.

"I know. Fear not. We will leave this place soon enough."

I squinted against shadow, only to eventually see what damage had been done to the temple. There was a sea of stony corpses, frigid and lifeless. Some were skewered by thick, steel bolts. On the cracked alter lay what had once been Despair. A long, grey blade was sunk deep into its chest, marked by a stabbed blackened organ - a heart, possibly from one of the dead hunters used to give it life. Clenched around the hilt was a pale fist, connected to a deadly pale spirit.

By the Creators. Cole had done it.

"Come," said Solas. "We must return to the Dalish. Quickly."

"No. There is something I'm forgetting. Someone." I tried to halt, but instead I ended up staggering in a frail attempt to regain my footing.

"Stay still. You do not want to rupture your wounds more than you already have."

That was when I noticed the fabric tied tightly around my injuries. Red peeked through the white cloth. "Who bound these?"

"I did. We managed to find the material around the temple. It will do until we reach the Dalish."

That was when panic gripped my throat like a giant's hand. These were not the only wounds on a person. There was another. "Solas, where's Jaras?"

With a grim expression, he gestured to the end of the hall.

There, clutching the edge of the wall and Senna's shoulder was him. The same cloth wrapped his chest.

I let out a deep breath. That fool had no idea how much luck he had. If he were anyone else, there would be no question. He would be dead.

"Ugh. Bloody demons. Da'mi, we're not coming here again, you hear?" Jaras said with surprisingly no pain in his voice. He reached out with a hand to steady himself around Senna. She touched the torn fabric of his tunic and ran her fingers over it.

"You're both losing a lot of blood. Come on. The Keeper will be able to help you," she said and headed towards the way we first came through.

"What about those bodies you were after?" asked Dugan.

Senna glanced back at the piles of ash. "Forget them. There's nothing left."

"Your lack of sympathy really warms the heart, lass," Jaras uttered. He grinned despite his state.

She nudged his rib with just enough force to bend him over. "Watch it, lethallin. The last thing I need is another dead hunter."

"Hah, 'course lass."

We steadily pressed our way through the Old Temple, quiet among the damage it had taken during the battle. Even with the demon long dead, Despair's taint had burned itself so deep that the temple would never be the same again. It would never be the same.

Loss. Abandonment. Plagued by the faces centuries old but shown them like it was yesterday. The experience left me hollow and empty inside. Memories that should never have been awakened were and the fact that I half-expected to see Elder Sa'belannar or Feren around the next corner scared me. The people I thought dead, knew were dead, were brought back and then lost. It was like reliving the pain of losing them again.

"I'm gonna be honest here." Varric's words cut through the tenseness of the company. The battle had left us all wary and scarred. "That could've gone better. Let's not do that again. I'm not ready to meet my ancestors."

Jaras' stride faltered as he leaned back. "You know what, lad. I think I'll have to agree."

Despite everything, things were learned that never would have been if we had not journeyed there. I remembered the spirit that had saved me from the nightmare. If the spirit was present inside the nightmare or if the spirit was part of a memory, I was not sure, but the power I felt after Despair's taunt was something I had never felt before. The effects hurt, but also left me wondering.

I sunk deeper into Solas' hold. If he had noticed, he never said. Whether the journey was worth it or not, there was one thing I truly believed.

I should never have gone back there.

...

It had been many hours since we had arrived back at the Sahlin clan. Keeper Athrion was the first to see our conditions. It took only one look for the Keeper to come to a decision and then Jaras and I were forced apart from the others, guided into separate tents. From there, the wounds were tended to with elfroot poultices, freshly bound and left to heal. The wounds stung when the healing herb had taken effect, but it was going to be at least a couple of months before my underarm and waist were healed completely. Scarring was inevitable. Not that it made much difference to the rest of my body. Scarring seemed to be a daily thing with the power I had. Two more wouldn't change much. To say the Keeper was shocked when he first saw us was an understatement, but I was grateful for his hospitality. There was no doubt that many in the clan would have turned us away, even if it was just Jaras and I.

With a last pull on my bandage, I rested back against the rickety armchair. The cool breeze of the evening air rippled the tanned hides of the tent like a shallow pond, while the flares of the clan's fire streaked the walls from the outside. It must have been late. The clan's dances and songs had finished long ago, meaning most had turned in for the night. I wondered how long it had been. My gaze drifted to the bed that lay on the opposite end of the room, engulfed in layers of fur skins, light weaved fabric and feathered pillows. Tempting. I longed for rest, though the sweet smell of meat from the outside made my stomach growl. Curse the clan for not sharing.

With my good arm braced against the chair's handle, I lifted myself from the seat, albeit sluggishly and moved towards the bed. My hand pulled at one of its bear-skinned covers. I never got the chance to use the blanket, though. By the time the fur was wrapped around my chest, a gentle ruffling parted the tent's folding, leaving way for quiet footsteps. The elvhen took a narrowing look around the tent and smoothed the wrinkles from his tunic.

"Solas," I said in slight surprise. "What brings you here this late at night? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I would be had I not witnessed what I had today," he said and laced his palms together.

I gave a knowing nod. "I know. It was something unexpected. I shouldn't have gone back there."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better now that the wounds have been treated."

Solas was quiet for a moment in consideration. Then he gestured to my wounds. "May I have a look?"

I casted him a suspicious glance, one he raised an eyebrow at. "They've already been bandaged. I'm not sure it would be a wise thing to reopen them just to see if anything's changed."

"I know, but I meant your scars. I have yet to see the damage your display at the temple caused."

"Oh. I'm sure that's fine then."

He saw my hands, the awkward way I held one around my arm protectively and the other barely keeping the bear-fur from falling from my chest. It was not like I had no clothes on underneath, but the nip in the air was something I could do without and being in only a light robe did nothing to prevent the cold. Beneath the clasped hand he saw the black scars, raw red and stiff in movement. He took my hand in his own, his touch gentle as if one wrong graze could cause pain, and then turned them over.

I watched silently as he ran a delicate thumb over the marks. He took care in healing the damaged tissue with a quiet incantation. Never before had I seen such attentiveness in something so trivial compared to what we faced. The healing was not necessary. The skin would heal on its own in time and would barely matter against the scars that were already there. Solas wasted his magic, in a sense, though why he still did it, I did not know. "Is everything alright?"

"Indeed," he said quietly and looked up. It was then that I noticed how close we were. Hands touched, bodies a breath away and heads close. At the intenseness of his gaze, I looked away, slightly in the hope that the warmth in my cheeks would be mistaken for burns from the battle, or simply an effect of the firelight upon the tent. "It seems to have been barely touched. It's nothing like our previous attempts at trying to figure this out. You were lucky."

Again, he was quiet. There was more he wished to ask, but was obviously reluctant. "Solas, is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he said and let his hands drop to his sides. "What happened at the temple... there is a part that I cannot understand. When I spoke to you in the Fade, it gave me a momentary glimpse into your experience under the demon's compulsion. I saw the temple in its former glory. I saw the priests that tended to it. And I saw you."

"So?"

"Would you mind explaining to me what it was you saw there? Perhaps I will have a better understanding if you told me."

"I..." I tried to think of an answer, but my thoughts twisted and knotted into a mess of unhelpful nonsense. What he saw was something from my past, something I did not want him to know. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he knew something was not right. He was no fool and knew the Fade better than I. _But what could I say to him knowing he knew my lies? _Eventually, after many drawn out heartbeats, perhaps too many, I said: "What you saw was... a trick of the Fade. Nothing more. That demon was manipulative. It must have manipulated you too." The lie felt like broken glass in my throat, and yet I stayed with it. It was a poor lie, but there was nothing else I could think of.

The crease between the apostate's eyes deepened as his brows were pulled together. He then snorted. His left hand moved a little, involuntarily. "Ah yes, of course. How careless of me. It's not like I would know the difference between a trick of the Fade and what is real. It's not like I'm knowledgeable in the field." Sarcasm. Though cruel, I should have expected it. "Do you think me a fool? Blissfully unaware of your lies?

"You said before that lies were necessary."

"Yes, but I never expected to see you in the temple as if you were really there!" Solas shook his head in dismay, lips drawn taut. "I need an explanation to put my mind at ease."

I stepped back from the elvhen and pulled the bear-fur tight. "Why is this so important to you? Whatever it is you saw, how about you forget about it and move on?"

"And that's your answer? Return to how everything was before? You cannot ask me to do that. It isn't that simple. What I saw cannot be real. And yet I saw it, as clear as day. It's not possible. You... For it to be true, you must be-" He cupped his brow and breathed deeply. "I admit, at first I did think it was a trick of the Fade. That you were pulled into a memory of the past, forced to relive its events. But then, the way you interacted with the dream was too real to be mere coincidence. The events folded out before you. You did not follow them blindly."

I raised my head, hopeful my face had stayed blank. "What's your point?"

"I want the truth. No more lies. No more deceiving. If you do not tell me then I will learn from it elsewhere. If needed I will go back to the ruin and see for myself."

My heart fell. "That's not fair."

"Nothing in life is fair. When have I ever betrayed your trust? I have done nothing but help you in your endeavour. I at least deserve to know the truth, even if it is only small."

My words faltered and receded back into my throat with a dry swallow. If he was anyone else, anyone other than the stubborn apostate I had come to know, then I would have laughed and told him what to do with his theories. But he wasn't. Solas was as stubborn as he was determined. If he truly wished to know, he would find a way. "You truly want to know the truth? After everything I've done to keep my existence quiet? Does it really matter that much?"

"It does."

It seemed I had little choice. I drew in a breath for what would be the hardest thing to say. The truth. "Fine. I was there all those centuries ago. I was there when the temple held refuge to the elvhen. I sought protection from them from my old master. The Old Temple, or better known as the Temple of Dirthamen, was the only safe haven I had from him. Varhel had connections, many connections and the temple was one of the most unknown places. A place that held sanctuary and one he would not find. But he did. My brother, Feren, left me in the temple, only when he came back, Varhel must have followed. Varhel didn't think twice about killing everyone inside. Elder Sa'belannar managed to hide me in one of the old rooms the priests never used. And then when he left, I realised that I had been injured. My memory after that is a slight blur, but whatever happened, be it from the spirit's help or from my own magic, my body froze. I only woke up three years ago to find the world… like this."

The silence that lay between us was deadly. Whatever Solas may have thought, I doubted the truth was anything like he imagined. "What you claim..." he began, almost unsure, "it cannot be true."

"I'm over eight thousand years old, Solas. At least, from what I can tell." He still frowned, and yet I found myself continuing the conversation, knowing it was probably the worst thing to do and that I should have returned to the silence. Sadly, my nerves favoured against me. "It's difficult to know how old for sure. The timings and dates both the Dalish and humans use are so vastly different to what I know. It's quite confusing, to tell you the truth."

Solas looked at me uncertainly. "Then you're-"

"Old?" I laughed. "Yes, I am. And before you ask, yes, I was alive during the time of Elvhenan and lived long enough to see the towers of Arlathan, though that was long ago. And before you ask again, let me tell you now that I was frozen in the Temple of Dirthamen long before the fall of Arlathan. Whatever happened to the city, I was not there and know nothing about it." I slowly lowered my gaze. "I... never knew Elvhenan fell until three years ago. It was a shock, to know that my people..." I let out a sigh and looked up. "But that doesn't matter now. They're gone. And now you know."

"That's not possible," was all that passed Solas' lips in a quiet, barely heard whisper. He made it sound as if what I said was the most absurd, deranged thing he had ever heard uttered. But he saw through the lies he at that moment almost wished were true. Realisation dawned on him, as swift as an arrow hits its mark. "And your name, Elgar'shiral? Spirit journey. Did the Dalish give you that?"

"No. My father did. It was a fond name he would call me. Suppose it fits well now though, doesn't it? Knowing what's happening to me."

"But the Dalish know of you?" he asked cautiously.

"A few do," I said. "Whether all do, I do not know."

When Solas next spoke, it was with a calm that was worse than any possible anger. How his shock could just disappear as if it was not even there in the first place was something that I simply could not understand. "I see."

The elvhen looked away. His back turned so he could face the tent's wall. He stayed like that for some time.

Though hesitant, I stepped forward. "Solas? Are you-?"

And just like that, his calm nature crumbled down for the briefest of moments. Many emotions passed his face, too many to count and understand. Fear. Joy. Intrigue. Doubt. So many. All gone after a blink. "I... I need time to think. This is... you shouldn't... Excuse me."

Almost on instinct, I reached out and watched helplessly as his hand slipped from mine.

A quiet plea escaped my lips, but he did not hear. His form had whipped the tent's parting back before the sound had reached his ears. Within a heartbeat, he was gone - faded into the dead of night without another word.


	18. Strands of a Web Undone

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Eighteen: Strands of a Web Undone

Two days. That was how long it had been since anyone had seen or heard of Solas. He had left through the clan's gate in the midst of night and had not returned since. I understood he needed time to think. It took a while for the clan's Keeper to accept that what I said was true. Keeper Athrion took longer than two days to persuade and even when he considered it, he thought I was mad. After some time, though, he had found it in himself to believe me, even though everything that I said went against the clan's teachings. Solas was another matter entirely. By the time I had told the Keeper, he had earned my trust and I knew more about him then I did Solas. Still, despite knowing Solas was a capable spell-caster and knew how to stray from danger's path, I worried.

_Worrying over some apostate,_ I thought incredulously. _What had come over me? _

In the evening's early hour, the clan had become somewhat settled after a long day of tending to the fields inside the settlement's boarders, preparing for food and gathering timber from the forest. The halla had been tended to by the halla-master, left to graze the tree roots in their pens. The hunters had skinned the rams, deer and fish for the night's feast. The smell of cooking meat was potent from the fires that's lights glowed up into the evening sky, but it was early and the feast would not have been ready until that midnight.

Until then, Varric had found the time to share his stories to some of the more accepting members of the clan, mainly the children, who watched as his hand gestures mimicked the scenarios of his tale. Their green and amber eyes were wide, unhindered and elbows spread out on knees holding jaws upright, transfixed in awe. Cole sat among them, content to simply listen to the tale he had heard a thousand times previous. It was Varric's favourite, The Champion of Kirkwall. He simplified the version to not scare the children, but kept it violent enough to keep them interested. The children grew up learning to become hunters after all. Violence did not bother them as much as it would a city child.

Sat in a remote corner of the clan, positioned on the end of a boulder honing the blades of his swords, was Jaras. Though his battle-wound pained him, made him wince at every scrape his whetstone made against the steel, he hid it well and continued to work. The gentle grind turned to sharp, rhythmic strokes, even against the edge.

"Shouldn't you be resting? Your wounds were worse than mine," I said.

He didn't look up. "I don't need rest," was what he muttered and wiped the sweat from his brow with an even sweatier sleeve.

"Yes, you do."

The blade shuddered beneath his grasp. "This needs doing, Da'mi. Keeps me focused and stops my mind from wandering off to what happened."

I watched carefully as his hand paused in its action, only for the blade to be turned on the opposite side and for his work to begin again. "You're still thinking about that?"

"How could I not? Lass, men I can handle in a sword fight. It's simple to guess which swing they're going to use, where they're hoping to hit you next. I can judge that. But demons? Never fought a beast that cares for nothing but to kill ya, or whatever it is they do. Every time I sliced its skin, if it was skin, the thing wouldn't even flinch. Shit, I'd rather fight a bear than another one of those things. Look, don't mind me. I'll get over it. I just need to make my swords sharper so next time, I'll be ready." He brought the blade up to mirror the firelight, his face stern in the reflection, before he threw it to one side and gathered the other. He angled the tip in the dirt and tilted it so the edge faced him. "Was there something you wanted?" At my quietness, he sighed. "It's the mage, isn't it?"

"He hasn't been back in two days." I crossed my arms. "The forest is dangerous enough out in the daylight, but at night it's worse."

"You're worried about him?"

"A little. But there's something else as well. I've done something foolish."

Jaras' whetstone slipped from the blade. His stare was uncomfortable, serious and so unlike him. It narrowed at the slightest hint of what it could be. "And what's that?"

"He knows about me. Who I am."

"You told him?" Jaras suppressed a groan and shifted to his feet. The sword dropped to the ground with a hollow thud. "Shit, Da'mi. Why would you do that?"

I looked away, slightly ashamed at what I had done, but also in the thought that Solas could very well be on his way to Skyhold, ready to betray me to the Inquisition. Though, he may not have been. He was an apostate after all. An outcast even amongst his elvhen kind. He did not trust the Dalish, nor did the Dalish trust him. Surely he would understand that we were not so unalike. A small part of my reasoning wished to believe that. "I thought I could trust him. He was going to find out eventually."

"Then what are we going to do about it?"

The words I had hoped to say escaped my mouth in a sigh. "I don't know."

At the soft crackle of the fire, Jaras retook the sword from the ground and held it high. The blade glinted white. The tip aimed at the sky. His leather gauntlets crinkled at the tight grip of the hilt. "You know-" The blade circled in a flash. The point stabbed the ground by his foot. "Many people get lost in the forest. Not many make it out."

I frowned slightly. "What are you saying?"

"What if our little mage friend is, say, ambushed by a pack of wild beasts? No one would know the difference. We could make the scene believable."

"No!" I almost cried. Faces of the nearby clansmen twitched at the sound. Only once did they realise that nothing had happened did they return to their work muttering curses under their breaths. "We're not doing that. By Dirthamen, Jaras, what were you thinking?"

He held his hands up defensively. "It was only a suggestion! Can't afford to have him go and blab to every shemlen now, can we?"

"That doesn't mean we're going to do that. No. I need to find him. Persuade him to keep it a secret."

"And if he doesn't?"

My gaze unconsciously flickered to Jaras' forgotten sword left to rest in the thin grass. A grim thought came at its sight. "I'll decide when the time comes. Right now he's out there."

"Better wait until morning then." Jaras settled back against the boulder and grasped the whetstone with raw fingers. A thought came to mind when it grazed the steel blade.

I quickly muttered, "Yes, of course. You're right. Goodnight, Jaras," and walked away.

By the time he replied, his words were but a whisper caught in the wind, as thin as a fennec's whiskers. _"Night, lass."_

The return to my tent was quick, quiet and didn't arouse any attention. My hands rummaged through the thick furs of the bed, only to collect my satchel and fill it with healing poultices, food and a bedroll found in the sacks by the entrance. From there, I slipped out through the tent's parting, careful not to be seen, crept away from the firelight and into the shadows the clan's timbered barrier created. With a hand positioned on the barrier, I walked blindly until I caught the familiar groove of the gate. Its silver frame gleamed lightly in the moonlight. The seal of magic did not prevent those from leaving and so it took only a slight push for the gate to part. The light of the fires disappeared once the gate was re-shut and darkness quickly shrouded me in its veil.

The apostate could have been anywhere within the forest and yet I wandered, further and further away from the clan's walls and into the trees, through the silent-flowing rivers to a place that no one had tread through in centuries. Wild sylvans, great trees of oak and black willow possessed, walked the night. Their roots clung to the earth, only to lift in long, unsteady strides. Their branches swayed back and forth as they passed me by, only to later bash into other trees whose roots were too deep to walk. They were a dangerous creation of the forest, but if caught without their attention, were the most interesting creatures a person could look upon. Their unearthly groans shook the very bones of the forest and went against the sharp cries of the owls whose grey wings quickly took flight.

A delicate, pale light settled between the trees. Its green glow was bright against the black like a beacon caged with a million fireflies, flickering and dancing across both bark and wooden limb, which, in its own curious way, made it seem alive. Curiosity and intrigue rose from its appearance and it was not long before I had begun to follow it, still cautious about the world around but also slightly captivated by the sight. It was odd how none of the wildlife had noticed it. Crows perched high above the branches were not enticed by the foreign light, something I thought would have been the first thing for them to inspect. Their calls were unusually silent, with only the rustle of feathers against the tree leaves to aware others of their presence. Even the wild halla, their eyes dark and ears pricked, kept their distance as if it brought a bad omen.

After a while, my side had begun to ache, as did my underarm. It seemed wandering through a forest at night with recently bound wounds was not the wisest idea. That was when the origin of the light came into view and my lips quirked at who was responsible.

Lying above the veined flesh of a drooping branch, held from the ground by the giant, entangled roots of a fallen tree, was Solas. The branch was not high, simply a few feet from the ground and was thick enough to accompany many people, not just the apostate himself. His back rested against the tree's main trunk. His eyes remained closed as if asleep and pale features were masked by the spell, casted between his staff's tendrils.

So, that was where the light came from.

The end of the apostate's cloak hung over the branch as a tattered curtain, the hems torn and frayed as it drifted lifelessly in the evening air.

"I should have known you would find me. You should know, I knew you were different," the apostate said. His words were loud and clear, as if he hadn't slept prior to my appearance. "The first time you came to Skyhold, I sensed the magic within you. It was an old magic. Too old to be of this world. But I believed your story. Thought that you happened upon your power by mistake."

My steps ended at the stone remnants of a pillar, leant against the tree's trunk and partly in touch with the branch. "And yet you found out who I was."

"Indeed, but only as time passed. You masked your intentions well from everyone. Including me."

"Then what gave me away?"

Solas opened his eyes. His gaze landed beneath him and was sharp even in the low-light. "Your power gave me a reason to question, of course, but it was your spirit that made you stand out. Your open-mindedness into the Fade was something many lack, and when I heard of your involvements with the Dalish, I truly thought you lost, just another Dalish looking upon us flat-ears with distaste. But I misjudged you. Didn't see you for what you truly were. You knew things that most could not, talked about the past as if it was some other time. The small parts of yourself you gave helped in figuring out who you were, though the truth was something I didn't anticipate." He paused as his attention centred upon his staff. "You were a mystery. You still are, despite all you've told me."

"And what are you going to do now?" I asked warily. "Will you tell others who I am?"

"No. You are unique and chaos will only ensue if any know of you. Someone like you should not be in this time. The People are considered dead to this world. Those knowing that one such as you still lives may not end well."

"Is that the only reason?"

Solas pursed his lips and shook his head. "No. Not the only. You have given me no reason to betray you. And if we are to trust one another, we should begin with this."

I stepped back in surprise. "That isn't what I expected you to say. I thought you'd be halfway to Skyhold by now, ready to tell the Inquisitor who I was, or anyone. I came here thinking you'd need convincing not to say anything." Solas' expression changed from one of surprise to disappointment. My gut knotted a little at that and, in response, I tried to look away. I could see the tomes spread out along the bark he rested on, along with his open bedroll and near-empty pack. He must have been up there for quite some time, perhaps even the whole two days. "Why didn't you return to the clan?"

"I needed time to think," he said and gazed out over the forest. "It is quiet out here. I like it, and there are things that have happened here that history has forgotten. Many battles not yet seen. It leaves a lot to dream about. Though, I must admit, I have been thinking over our last conversation carefully and I have questions."

I stifled a snort. "I thought you would."

"Am I really that obvious?"

"No, but if our roles were reversed, I'd have already asked you every question that came to mind." I smirked. "You'd be on the floor with a headache."

"Yes," he said. "I suppose I would."

He wanted answers. That was not something new. The amount of questions Keeper Athrion had first asked was enough to fill two tomes. But that did not mean that I would tell the apostate answers blindly without something in return. "How about this. We take turns asking each other questions. I'll tell you about my life if you tell me about yours."

Solas' brows fell over his eyes in contemplation. Something similar to concern creased his features for just a moment, before he gave a simple nod. "I assume that's fair. But who will go first?"

"I will since you already know quite a bit about me." My satchel slipped from my shoulder, only to land in the long, wiry strands of grass below.

"Very well," he said and looked down at his place. "But the conversation may be better suited up here."

"How did you even get up there?" I asked. The pillar was not that steep and could theoretically be walked upon to get to the branch. "The pillar?"

"Indeed. It was not difficult. Come. Join me." He beckoned to the space beside him.

I felt my brow furrow. "I'm wounded if you haven't realised."

Realisation dawned on the apostate faster than expected. "Oh. Yes, of course. Apologies. I will be down in a moment."

It was not long before the elvhen had regained his poise, had his belongings packed and stepped silently from the branch. His staff tapped the engraved stone on the way down. As he began to settle against the pillar's end, I smoothed out my bedroll across the dirt, drew my knees up and pulled them close. A canopy of thick, brown leaves shrouded the area, but held tears that allowed specks of moonlight to seep through. The specks did not dispel the shadow, but instead highlighted the silver seams against the dark blue fabric of my mantle, while the dirt-stained skirt and boots remained dark. It was an old outfit, one the hunters had managed to collect within the Old Temple. With Despair dead and the temple's wards temporarily sealed away, it gave the clan's hunters an opportunity to go inside to retrieve anything the Keeper may have found interesting, or any items that could have been valuable to the clan. The mantle, smock and skirt were but a few amongst the many items they had found and decided to keep. At least they had enough respect to return the clothing to me. It had been so long since I wore something of my time. The human's mercenary outfits or even their baggy shirts and leggings were not nearly as comfortable.

The sharp bite of the night's air left my skin to prick and shiver. My arms tightened around my knees. "Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up?"

The elvhen groaned involuntarily as his head fell back against the pillar's edge. He cupped the end of his staff and let out a heavy breath. The staff's glow dimmed into a small orb. Solas waited until the sounds of the forest settled into a distant rumble before he spoke. "I grew up in a village to the North. There was little to interest a young man there, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had not imagined." There was a hint of a grin when his eyes glinted against the dark at what I could only presume was a fond memory. He went on, a touch of wistfulness in his voice. "I treasured my dreams. Preferred them to the physical world on many occasions. Though I soon found that being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome. Spirits would try to tempt, but no more than a brightly coloured fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it. I learned how to defend myself from the more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There was so much I wanted to explore. But one thing I have learned with exploration is that there is always something new to uncover."

"You learned about the Fade on your own without a tutor?" I asked in surprise.

"Indeed," he said proudly. "But I believe it is now my turn to ask a question. Where did you grow up? From what I know about Elvhenan, it was rich in culture and its society prosperous."

The hold on my knees loosened and I brushed a hand through the stray strands of my hair tiredly. I slightly hoped that Solas was not as naive in his knowledge as the Dalish were. It was not their fault. Their heritage ended over eight thousand years ago and no one could have been expected to remember everything about a lost civilisation in that space of time. What they did know, however, were but a few tiny droplets of a vast river, and even some of those droplets were tainted by falseness and non-truths. "Yes, it was, in a way, but the society was built upon those who were of privileged nobility and those who were not, like the human cities today. But privilege families were not born from wealth or heritage, but from knowledge and power. My family were of one such nobility. My family was known to have powerful dreamers, those who would undergo uthenera, which was being able to journey through the Fade at centuries at a time, like you, Solas. Some could go to sleep without the need of being tended to and could live by simply using the essences of the Fade. They left the present world for long periods of time, gaining knowledge from the other side to give to younger generations upon their wake. Those few elvhen were rare, though, and only one in my family managed to do that without dying. My grandfather. I had three dreamers in my family at the time, though two needed constant attention to stay alive. But we had servants for that and with my father's connections, we lived a content life among the nobility in a town called Virellin, meaning path of our blood."

"Fascinating. I had heard of the ancient dreamers."

"You would have been at the highest of our society, Solas, with your skills," I said. "Magic wasn't shunned in Elvhenan. It was a gift. You would have been accepted more in that time then you are here."

"You think so?"

"Of course! There's no doubt."

"There is one thing I don't understand. If you were from nobility, then how did you become a slave?" I looked quickly into the forest, away from his staff's spell, knowing the reflected light would show the leap of my heart. _Slave._ It was a vulgar term, one that no longer applied to me. It had been eight thousand years since I last physically saw him, Varhel, but even then, my chains were broken long ago. I should have been over the term. Able to hear the word and not think back to those days spent under his rule. But I wasn't. There was still an effect Varhel had on me, and that worried me. Though Solas did not utter another word in wait for the answer, I gave him none and could not meet his eye. There was an interminable pause. Only the slight crack of his spell passed between us. Sensing his mistake, he asked tentatively, "You mentioned that you had a brother?"

"Feren." My feelings changed at the mention of him. The bad memories receded from mind to lighter ones of our time together, and only when I thought I could keep my voice calm did I finally continue. "Yes. He was the older sibling. My only sibling. There was around two hundred and fifty years between Feren and I. It might seem like a long time to you but to us it was like... I'd say two and a half years difference in your time."

"And you were close?"

"Yes. Very. All of my immediate family were close. Feren and I used to learn magic together from our grandfather. Father always made sure we were studying, telling those he knew at court what new spells we had learned and how we were going to be the next dreamers in the family line. But we never saw the point in the Fade. I was drawn more to ice magic, while Feren preferred... other types. You must understand, the magic back in my time wasn't based in single groups like it is today. There was such a range and it could never be categorised. And I'm talking a bit too much now. I believe it's your turn to answer my question."

At that, the apostate gave a short nod. "As you wish."

At the slight shudder of the earth, our stares turned towards the tangled trees. Muscles flinched at every twitch, flick or snap of a stem or loud wail of ligneous jaws. We waited with bated breaths for what felt like an eternity. The noise withdrew from the area after a while. The thorn hide of a sylvan abandoned its path and chose another, one that led from us to the river.

Unconsciously, I tugged my mantle closer with a snapping of cloth and inched slightly nearer to the apostate. The magic receded from my grasp without notice and my hands soon curled into the bedroll. "You said you explored places. Alone?"

Solas did not reply straight away. Instead, he waited until the only sound that passed was the light sigh of our breaths. "Not at all, or at least not all the time. I have built many lasting friendships. Spirits of wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed."

I frowned sceptically. "Spirits can be your friends? Like people?"

"Indeed. We are not only people because we are flesh and blood. Spirits are capable of behaving like any rational mind, intelligent or otherwise. It is true, some are dangerous, but there are also benevolent spirits who solely seek companionship. Is Jaras defined by his swords and not his loyalty? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit? Even Cole was once a spirit, and how real does he seem to you now?"

I thought over the answer. When I first met the spirit, I had thought of him as a normal young, human man. Never did it come to mind that he was more. "Like any human."

Solas nodded. "Precisely."

"I hadn't thought about it like that, but it's like I said before, I'm not knowledgeable on the Fade. That's why I keep hounding you with questions. I know a few things, but I must seem like a naive child to you. Even in most of my grandfather's lectures I simply fell asleep. I never really listened to what he had to say. Though, you're much more interesting than he ever was about the Fade."

"I shall take that as a compliment," Solas said, slightly amused. The curve of his lip faltered and fell. His gaze soon fastened intently on mine, as if his next words held significant importance. "If you don't mind, I have one more question. You must know of Arlathan. Have you ever encountered the city? It's people?"

"I had actually, once. A few of my father's old friends were meeting there along with other influential families. He brought my family with him when he left Virellin. We stayed for only a short time, but it was... something you could never forget. Don't get me wrong, Virellin was a beautiful place with magic you could not imagine, but Arlathan was another matter entirely. Oh, where to begin. I... it was..." It was then that I found myself tongue-tied, unable to figure out how to describe the city in a way that could do it justice. My fingers linked and fumbled, thoughts came and went, yet Solas did not speak. He simply remained calm and quiet, until I had decided what to say. "Think of Skyhold's towers. They're impressive by their size, but lack something that makes them more than towers. The towers of Arlathan were like the ones in Skyhold, but imagine them as arched and crowned in runes that glowed brighter than any star, but still allowed the stars to shine just as bright at night. You see wooden ramps and Dalish aravels within the Sahlin clan, but imagine stone laced in lyrium, roads lit blue and palaces floating in the air. Wherever you went, magic confronted you, twisted and curled into beautiful spectacles without even needing a caster to control it. Imagine lost troves of ancient knowledge and paintings displayed in vast galleries for any and all. Imagine songs sung throughout the long hours of the evening, so melodic that any heart would weep upon the sound. It was... beautiful."

"How I envy you, to have seen such a place that I could not," he said in tones of wonderment.

I gave a short, bitter laugh, one that came as a surprise to him. "You shouldn't. I remember Elvhenan as if it was yesterday, but you at least have the luxury of not missing what could never come back. You can imagine what Arlathan was like, but never have to feel the pain of losing it, or of losing your people. Sometimes I wish I didn't remember such things. I would rather forget than remember what will never come back."

Solas' mouth thinned, though not with any anger, but simply at the answer itself and what it implied. "You don't mean that."

"Don't I?"

"The pain will be there for a time, Da'len, but it will fade. The memories you hold will never fade and are always something to look back on."

"Does the pain truly fade, or is it suppressed?" I asked in slight question of myself. "Will I ever be free?" At realisation of how quickly the topic changed, I raised my head and forced a smile. Solas was not fooled. "Forgive me, this is depressing. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I do not mind."

"I know." For some reason, the crumpled leaf beneath my boot seemed more interesting than one would have thought and took hold of most of my attention. It shifted against the heel and then the tip, cracking as it was forced into the dirt. "It's just difficult realising that my world is gone and that I have to get accustomed to this one."

"A difficult path, but you are not alone in walking it."

I looked up then, realising that what he said was true. "Neither are you."

"I never said I was," he said in surprise.

"I know. But you're an apostate and walk the world searching for dreams on your own. You may have made friendships with spirits but what happened once you weren't in the Fade? It... must have been lonely."

"It was," he admitted, under his breath, as if the words were not meant for anyone else's ears but his own. After what felt like an endless wordless time lost in thought, he blew out a breath and stretched out his back. His gaze lifted to the sky. "It is late. Perhaps we have spent enough time out here. Come. Let us return to the Dalish."

Just as he was about to stand, I gently caught his arm and tugged. It brought him back down with a confused look. "That might not be a good idea. It's too dark to see and remember what I said about the forest being dangerous at night, worse than the day? It is. I only got here in one piece because the sylvans decided I wasn't much of a threat. And there is no one to open the Sahlin's gate until morning. It might be wise to stay here until dawn."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." That was when my ears caught a faint rumble. Solas touched the edge of his stomach. A light blush seemed to cross his ears and cheeks, though that may have been a trick of the moonlight. A wry half-curve of his lip was directed my way and then to my satchel. "I don't suppose you brought any food with you?"

Stifling a laugh at his reaction, I unlaced the satchel and took out two items wrapped in cloth. "What would you prefer? Bread, bread or bread?"

"Such a variety. How will I ever choose?"

"Well I would go for the bread myself but you can always choose the latter, though it isn't as good." I smiled and handed it to him. He took it with a grateful nod. "It's the best I could get in a moment's notice. You should be pleased. I brought enough to keep us fed for days."

Once the cloth was unwrapped, it took no time for it to be discarded and for the bread to be gone.

"I never thanked you for what you're doing for me," I said as I looked down at my bread as if it was the most fascinating thing in Thedas. "I know I'm not the easiest person to get along with, but what you're doing means a lot."

Solas paused in a half-bite, lowered his hand and glanced my way. "You are welcome."

I took another bite and savoured the sweet taste. Bread was something new to me. It did not exist in the time I came from and though the food of the new age was nothing to compare to before, the variety of flavours, spices and tastes was something to enjoy, and sometimes not enjoy. "You know, I'm waiting to find out what your motive is for helping me."

"Would simple curiosity not suffice as an answer?"

"No."

He gave a cool, careful look. "It's like I said before. You are a mystery, and I have always had a fondness for unravelling them. Will that do?"

I gave a slight shrug. "For now."

It was when the entirety of our meals had been eaten and when the cloth had been stuffed into the satchels that the bedrolls were laid together and our satchels plumped up for pillows. There was one blanket shared between us and with it, we settled beneath the heavy leaves and twining branches. After a quiet whisper, Solas' staff fell dormant and there was only moonlight. Through the narrow tears in the leaves and through their gentle parting, the moon shone like a curled up halla's fur, small and white amongst many stars and cloud.

Sighing, shifting, I curled myself tight and tried to force myself to sleep. It did not work. We may have been hidden, but a wild sylvan could enter the area at any moment and find us, or an even worse beast could drag one of us away without the other knowing.

_Surely Solas would have set up wards, _I wondered.

Of course he would have. Otherwise one of us would have been awake guarding the area. The thought didn't ease my worries or help in the attempt of sleep, though.

"Solas?"

His back remained still and for a heartbeat I worried that he had fallen asleep. "Hmm?"

"Can you show me a past memory in the Fade?"

He laughed then, a light and genuine laugh that made his shoulders rise and fall. "You're still not ready for that, Da'len. You have much to learn." He exchanged a brief glance with me, his gaze soft, before he turned to look at the sky above. "But as for tonight, I will think of something."

...

_Thanks so much to WarriorsFan20, Syrilth and Guest for commenting! _  
_To WarriorsFan20, thanks for the review. I've went back into previous chapters and changed a few things so it isn't like Solas is smiling as often. It's difficult trying to get his character right and any help is definitely appreciated._  
_As for the romance part of the fanfic, I'm hoping to get to certain parts within the next couple of chapters. I just don't want to make it so that the romance doesn't fit into the story. I don't want to get into it too soon, only to have it not work with the story. It'll definitely happen, hopefully within the next few chapters, it's just getting to a point were it makes sense._  
_Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter / story so far.  
_


	19. Poets In The Glade

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Nineteen: Poets in the Glade

Solas lifted his narrow-tipped staff back and peered over the forest trail warily. "I thought you knew the way back to your clan."

"I did. I do," I said as strands of grass, both fresh and dead upon the land, slipped between my fingers. Curse it. No path.

We had wandered through the thick mist of the early morn for what had seemed like hours on end. The sun crested over treetops and shadowed the meshing ground of tall grass, nettles, sharp burs and thorns. The trees had grown older and taller through our journey. Their twisted roots had thrust above ground in long, broad walls that surrounded most of the glade. Some of the lesser roots served as barriers, cutting through the path as high as the waist. The path we had once followed quickly lost its mark and was no longer clear enough to see.

The earth was level, damp but settled, with no prints to indicate that anyone had been within the area in quite some time. It could have been decades since an elvhen had last been through, perhaps even longer. The forest was so vast that many places within were yet to be discovered. In fact, if it were not for the pale grooves in the bark further ahead, cut by antlers, it would have been as if nothing had lived within the glade, a part from the trees of course. "The path is gone."

Solas looked back, coolly composed despite our predicament. "So in a manner of speaking, you're saying we're lost?"

"Not lost but misplaced." I sluggishly tugged at the ends of my hair. One finger loosely curled a stray strand while I thought. "If only you had stayed within the clan's bounds. We wouldn't be out here now trying to find a way back if you had."

With a tiredly cupped brow, Solas perched himself on the edge of a narrow, upturned tree root and absentmindedly swept the dirt from his tunic. His gaze narrowed at the sky. "You should not have come looking for me."

"What was I going to do? Leave you out here with no way back?"

"I'm sure I would have had no trouble in finding my way."

I scoffed. "Sure, and yet you neglected to give any directions when we were walking. You didn't have to follow me."

"And yet you needn't lead, Da'len. I was under the pretence that you knew where you were going. I would have been more than happy to carry on for you. You needed only ask."

That was taken as a challenge. "Fine." Quick and steady, I pushed myself from the tree, passed the elvhen's curious gaze and gestured outward to the glade. "You lead. Which way do you advise us to go oh noble mentor? We could try west. We might find the path we came, though that is very unlikely. We could try north, though I doubt we'd get very far before nightfall. South may be an option, or further east towards the sea. There's only one problem. We have no idea which way is north, east, south or west."

"You give me little faith."

"Yes. I do."

As if to prove a point, Solas stepped from his naturally formed rest, using his staff to walk. The elvhen strode towards the patter of swift-flowing water, his haste stately, causing his robe to ripple like a banner caught in a storm, while his head turned, searching.

Beneath the forest's web of branches lay a reflected surface; a river of murky green, rippled and foamed by its current. A dark thicket lay on the other side just above the fleshy bank, shrouded in the forest's hazy breath.

"We passed a river like this before, did we not?" the apostate asked, more to himself than to me.

Already knowing the answer, Solas leaned over the bank to get a better look up-river, though that only led to the creasing of his brows and the rhythmic strum of long fingers against his staff's side. Up-river was no better than the rest of the forest: no hint of a bridge and shadowed by draping trunks, none low enough to climb over. As a test, he dipped the staff's end into the river, only to note that it was deeper than it seemed. The sheer force of the current almost sent him toppling over the bank's side and into the mess of reeds below.

"Careful! You're not immortal. Wouldn't want you to be taken away by the river now, would we?" I held a hand out as the apostate stumbled to gain his footing in the thin stretch of mire. Like many elvhen, Solas wore no boots, only wrappings that ended at the base of his toe knuckles, leaving the rest if his feet bear to nature. He grimaced at their state and attempted to scrape the mud off within the long grass, only to no avail.

The sight of such a usually proud elvhen behaving in such a strange fashion, one arm wavering in the air whilst the opposite leg was held out in an attempt to balance, was something that made me giggle. Solas merely twisted around once it was done with a less than pleased expression.

My words were partly muffled by my hand, but were clear enough for him to understand. "Forgive me. That was pretty funny."

I barely caught the muttered reply before he had skulked backed into the glade, returned to the edge of the tree root and rubbed a hand across his face. And so we sat together at an impasse, each in wait for the other to form an idea or plan. We could have wandered, but that may not have ended well. It may have set us further from where we intended to go or worse, set us on a path that led only to ruin.

After a while, I had begun to pace from one area of the glade to the other, slightly hoping that an idea would come to mind and that we could leave without having to stay a moment longer, but nothing came. Instead, I found a quiet nook close to the apostate but also sheltered from the daylight. My back sunk deeper into its shadow once the trees had begun to shiver from an oncoming breeze. "We could wait until it's dark and go in the direction of the moon. Though the forest would be worse than it is now and the moon changes position every hour. We'd just end up lost again. Forget I said anything."

Without warning, Solas lifted himself from the root and pulled his staff from the ground. "I still believe that following the river is the wisest choice. It is bound to lead somewhere."

I shook my head, though was quickly on my feet by the time he donned his pack. "If we go in any direction we're bound to end up somewhere, Solas."

"Yes," he said as he turned back, "but the river runs past your clan, does it not?"

"It's quite far from the clan..." I whispered but knew there was reason behind his words. Besides, it was the only useful suggestion he had said since we had woken up. "But I understand what you mean. I suppose we could try."

We were ready to set off into the forest once again, only before we got the chance to step from our place, our gazes cut to a looming shadow. It growing size dwarfed our forms and banished the sun from the land around. The sound of snapping branches filled the forest. Gnarled, crooked stems groaned, twisted and curved, changing from just hollow bark into a bare-leafed sylvan. It's jaw was slack, boughs spread wide and thorny claws sharp in the dim lights that managed to cut passed its body. At first, it did nothing. It simply stood tall and stared at the sky as if a dragon had flown over yonder. However, at the gentle swish of the grass beneath our feet, it cut down to our height. Our hoods were thrown back by the sylvan's sharp exhale of breath. A breath both rotted and rank. The bark resembling a head tipped forward curiously as if we were some beast it had never seen before.

A stunned silence fell. The soft crackle of a slowly formed spell sounded loud by comparison.

"Hmm. What manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?" Bones quivered under the gruff, raucous question the sylvan gave, yet the creature remained impeccably still, saving for its thorns that swayed at its sides with each heavy breath it took. It did not bite, nor did it seem to wish to kill us. That was different.

Solas and I cautiously exchanged glances, unsure of how to respond. The thought to simply run was more than tempting.

"We're elvhen talking... tree?" I said slowly.

The sylvan reclined upon the answer. Its bark hummed in approval. "Ah yes, I remember thee. Long ago the elves roamed free. Their numbers few, and passing fast, until one eve, they saw their last. Allow me a moment to welcome thee, I am called the Grand Oak, sometimes the Elder Tree."

"Fascinating," said Solas. His gaze fastened intently upon the creature and one could practically imagine the water wheels working through his mind in an attempt to figure out how it came to be.

"I've never in my years seen something like this before," I said. "And it... rhymes. It rhymes?"

Solas gave only a shallow nod. "I can only imagine what manner of spirit possessed this tree."

The Grank Oak must have heard our whispers as it returned to our height. Bark split upon the creature's jaw as it ripped open a cracked, jaggedly chipped grin. "And unless thou thinkst it too soon, might I ask of thee a boon?"

I blinked. "A boon?"

I must have looked doubtful, for Solas said, "It rarely hurts to listen. Trust is another matter entirely."

My gaze roamed the sylvan warily. "What are you exactly? A spirit locked in a tree? Something more?"

The earth trembled as the Grand Oak returned to its full height. "I am an elder oak and nothing more, though once I dreamt of a time before, when I roamed the world and howled with pain, not of this world but twixt and twain. Perhaps I was a spirit then? A wandering thing drawn to this glen? But then that spirit joined with a tree, since then, a tree is all I be."

"And yet the sylvans around here are different from you. They would rather fight than talk."

"Of the sylvans, this is true. They are quite mad, their virtues few. A spirit trapped within a tree, no mouth to scream or eyes to see. A rage of bark, a prison of wood, a thing of rage, where nature stood. So twisted sylvan they have become, but I am not the same as some. I accept my fated oaken home, I feel no need to rage and roam."

For some reason there was a part of me that believed the sylvan's story, even though it could have easily lied about its nature, intent to swallow us whole once we had turned.

"You mentioned a favour?" asked Solas.

"Ah my mortal friends, I do seek thee, may you be of those who may help this tree?" A long, needle-like thorn pointed in the direction of another tree. Like the Grand Oak, the tree was leafless saving for the small flower buds on its spine, yet creepers tangled its base and arms, wired round in a cocoon that prevented it from all movement. "That tree does not talk, thou words cut short, a sad thing for my friend, thy words no longer consort."

"He used to speak?"

The Grand Oak bowed its head sorrowfully. "By winter it came, my companionship longing, its stories were welcomed, our friendship bonding. Alas, thou silence grew swift, thou actions slow, thou no longer moves, for why I do not know."

Solas pressed a finger to his lip in thought. "What caused your friend to become silent?"

The sylvan allowed its head to droop lower. Its attention centred upon its sleeping friend. "As I slept one early morn, an elf did come with rage and scorn. He saw my friend and spoke to thee, said he was tired of the wisdom tree. My friend spoke truths, lies and more, could give wisdom both healing and sore. Was my friend's choice, to answer truth or lie, but it was the truth the elf did deny. The elf sung curses in the wind, warnings in the night, said he would kill the Elder Oak if not given foresight. My friend turned mad, angered with spite, its movements turned deadly upon the mortal's sight. Leave him be, I did say, let the mortal be on its way. But my friend did not listen, its judgement made, it went for the mortal, it's roots fast across the glade. A spell was cast, my friend's roots sunk deep, was not long before it was made to sleep."

"A mage did this then?" Solas whispered.

I gave a half-shrug. "It must be."

"Long has it been since my friend last sang," continued the Grand Oak, "has been longer still since its roots last sprang. I have but one desire, to solve this that is most dire. All I have is to speak to my friend, to enjoy our stories before their end. But its bark is stiff, its body hollow, for this without life fills me with great sorrow."

Pity came at seeing the sylvan so depressed, despite knowing that there was still a chance it could have lied about its tale. Knowing that the chances of me figuring out what to do in a matter such as that was slim, I looked to Solas, hopeful. "Is there a way to help its tree friend?"

Solas carefully studied the tree in question, traced its grooves with a finger, drew lines through the weeds fixed into its skin and watched for any movement. It did not. Satisfied it would not react, he pressed his palm flat against its bark and shut his eyes. "It's possible," he said softly. "If I could figure out which spell was used, it would be simply reversing it."

"Can you figure out which spell that is?" I asked.

Solas stood there for several breaths. He lifted his hand and a glimmer of light fell onto the tree's veins, illuminating it in a faint green radiance. Solas opened his eyes as the tree absorbed the magic into its being, and nodded. "It is done."

The tree choked out the sun as it lifted from the land. Its roots stretched up and branches swept along its body, tearing the blighted weeds away.

The Grand Oak's neck, or what was presumed to be its neck, snapped around with a _crack._ "Ah, my friend, thou has last been freed! My joy sours to new heights indeed."

The tree's movements ceased as it noticed the Grand Oak's voice. It grunted.

Just as the tree turned its attention to Solas and I, its grunts deep and limbs threatening, the Grand Oak shook its head and said, "Worry not, for these mortals have helped thee, they cast the spell that set thee free."

The tree grunted again in acknowledgement.

Sensing it meant some form of a thank you, I gave a hesitant smile. "You're... welcome." At another grunt, a deeper, guttural one that sent the earth quaking, I stepped back and looked up to the Grand Oak warily. "Does he speak or-?"

"Fallfir's words are wise, though secretive and short, to talk blindly he is not the sort," the Grand Oak replied proudly. Something must have passed between both trees that we could not understand, as the Grand Oak nodded to its friend and held out one long thorn claw. "Fallfir would like to thank thee mortals, its words meant as kind, it will gift thee advice in return, if thou does not mind."

"Advice?"

"No price to pay, no judgement need made. Simply a gift for it is all it has to trade. But be wary, its words may hold truths, its words may hold lies, they may be words for comfort or words to despise. Take them as you see fit, says thee, remember or forget, it is enough for this tree."

Curious, I nodded. "What do you have to say?"

The sylvans turned to each other, their heads high as they spoke. When a decision was made, the Grand Oak bent down to our height and said, "For you mortal, let this be said. Not all you know are dead."

"What-?" I looked at Fallfir sharp. "What does that mean?"

Fallfir merely grunted.

After a while, I lowered my gaze to the grass, unsure of how to take its words. _What could that have possibly meant? _I wondered as a slow sense of dread tugged at my chest._ Did it mean Varhel or something more? Someone else? Something I wasn't aware of?_

The Grand Oak's voice pulled me out of my reverie. "Some words mean nothing, some words mean more, whichever it is, that is left to thee to decide for."

"And what words of wisdom do you have for me?" asked Solas.

The Grand Oak leaned back as Fallfir gave it its answer. "Pride is a bearing, brought forth is a curse, if one follows their path blind, it will only end for the worse," the sylvan echoed.

It was strange how my elvhen companion did not react. To have heard something so personal, so confident and strange, even if the words could have been lies, would have made any normal person, be it human or elvhen, react. Yet he did not. He remained composed, calm and quiet, as if the words had not bothered him. How curious.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

Solas simply shook his head. "I am not sure."

Not fully believing his response but knowing getting another answer from him was slim, I looked to the sky and noticed how the sun had drifted further from its place. "We better go. It won't be long before it's nightfall."

"And which way do you propose? You said it yourself. We're lost."

"Lost, thee say?" asked the Grand Oak. "Perhaps I can help thee find its way."

"There was a path we were following but we've lost where it is. It leads to a Dalish clan," I said.

The Grand Oak pointed deep into the forest. "Long has it been since I left this place, difficult it is to lose the forest's embrace. But I remember a path, just past this glen, follow the river and the path thee shall find again."

Of course it would have been the river. "Ma serannas, Grand Oak," I said as Solas and I began to head away from the sylvans.

At our depart, the Grand Oak called out, "I wish thee well, my mortal friends. Thou brought my sadness to an end! May the sunlight find you, thy days be long, thy winters kind, and thy roots be strong."

The river wound through the forest, tangling its way through like a snake. Sometimes the river was wide enough to be seen for miles, while other times it was narrow enough to be mistaken for a shallow stream, but even then the marshland was too thick to pass through in order to get to the other side. Once at the river's end, the path the Grand Oak had told of was not as straight as it had been before as it meandered over hard ground, rocky mounds and denser underwood, so closely knit that a single misstep caught the threads of clothing and so narrow that our pace had dropped to a crawl. Concern set in after an hour of wandering. Yet as we journeyed, it was noticed that the trail had become familiar.

Sahlin archers had marked many trees with symbols known only to that clan. Most had meant to show the best hunting grounds while others showed territory too dangerous to venture alone. It was not long before confidence took over and I knew where we were going.

"I have been wondering this for a time," Solas said as the evening sunlight poured through the canopy of trees above, only to paint the forest floor in a patchwork of gold and bronze. "The power you produced within the Old Temple. That was no ordinary magic."

"I know." My fingers ghosted between thin branches and gently pushed them from my robes, though some tugged the fabric at the ends. The branches quickly became less in number until they receded back into the undergrowth and allowed a tight clearing.

"How did it feel?" Solas asked as he too brushed the stray stems away.

My stride paused for a brief moment, slightly in consideration of his question and in which way the path led to next, before my feet turned to pass through the wide split of a tree, torn apart by what could only have been a wild sylvan. "I felt nothing. Usually there's a burn, a slow burn that feels like my arm is on fire, but that time I was already injured. Perhaps that's why I didn't feel it. It hurt like the void itself afterwards though but that calmed once the wounds were treated. Why? Do you think the power could be controlled?"

The apostate shrugged. "Anything is possible."

"And I take it you will be training me?"

"I see no reason why not, though I myself have never used such power, but that does not mean that I will not try to help. And I have yet to see your power dominated. I imagine that the sight would be fascinating."

There was a light, almost nervous hitch in his voice at the end word, and I could not help but exploit it. It was not every day the apostate gave way such uncontrolled emotion after all. "Oh? And what about controlling my power would make the sight... fascinating, did you say?"

The elvhen's steps died from the forest floor, which could only have meant that he halted. "I- well, I meant it would be fascinating to see certainly."

"Uh-huh." I dared a glance back.

Surprise took the apostate's features."What?"

"Nothing," I said, content to keep my attention set on the surroundings, though I knew the attempt to keep a straight face waned with each tree passed.

His strides took on a swifter pace, one that quickly caught up to mine. We were soon side by side yet there was a minor trip in his step. "Then why are you smiling?"

"I just find your eagerness to know what this power is capable of interesting." I gave a little shrug and searched the stretch of glen for which way to go next. Remnants of trampled grass indicated that elvhen had recently been in the area. That could only mean that we were close. "You have an interesting way of looking at things."

He paused on the edge of a cracked stone flag, a curious shimmer in his eyes. "I try..." An unexpected boldness crept into his tone. "And that isn't quite an answer."

"You want an answer. I see." I pursed my lips and purposely waited several breaths before I added, "Admit it, Solas. You're looking forward to this as much as I am."

The elvhen looked to the ground. "That is... well... that is true. There's no use in denying it."

My smile grew. "Good to know."

At the sight of smoke on the horizon, Solas cleared his throat. "We are close to the Dalish."

My gaze followed his. Indeed, there was a smoke trail, one that grew thick along with the ashy smell. Crows flew over yonder, following it as if they knew food would soon be on offer. It could have been one of two things: a forest fire or the clan. I favoured the second option. "I think we are. I remember this part of the forest. It seems we made it back safely after all. Many thanks to the Grand Oak."

"Indeed. It was fortunate we crossed paths with him."

"Better him than a wild sylvan."

As we ran through the trees, their shadows whipping past and the clan's walls in sight, Solas called out, "Da'len, how long do you presume we will be staying with the Dalish?"

The heels of my boots halted in the dirt. Slowly, I turned back, confused. "Why do you ask?"

"We've found all we've needed to at the Old Temple," he said. "It might be time to return to Skyhold."

"We've only just got here."

"I know. But Varric, Cole and I do not belong here. The Dalish have been tolerant, but there is only so long before they tire of us. I'm only suggesting that we leave before tensions rise. It might be worth keeping that in mind."

I gave his message thought. He meant well and though it hurt, there was wisdom behind his words. "I suppose you're right. It isn't like I couldn't come back another time. The clan isn't too accepting of you and the others. Perhaps it is time. Keeper Athrion will be sad but I'm sure he'll understand."

"You're close to the Keeper, I see," Solas pointed out.

"He was one of the first I came across after I woke up," I said as we began to walk again. "He was the pillar that held me together through most of it. I owe him a lot. But I will think on that later. Right now all I want is to curl up into my tent and sleep. It's been a long day."

Solas could only agree.

It was almost dark by the time we reached the clan. From the top of the wall came an archer, his bow drawn taught and arrow notched. Yet when he noticed who we were, he quickly left the deck to crack the spell and open the gate. Almost immediately, it was noticed that many of the clan were missing, or at least not present. Most must have disappeared into their tents for the evening, yet shouts did come from dancing shadows, cast along the ground by the large fire lit in the centre of the settlement. It was an argument, seeming to get worse as the shadows wavered with swift motions. The archer, strapped in leather and no older than eighteen years rushed over to the fire while Solas and I followed at a slower pace. The noise ended abruptly and all shadows turned to us.

Senna was the first to greet us, only her eyes upon ours was hard-edged, carrying the most sour expression. "Where in Andruil's name have you been?" she demanded and folded her arms tightly across her chest. A daring glare pinned us to the spot as she waited for an answer. Only, neither my companion nor I got the chance, for when we opened our mouths to speak, she threw a hand up for silence. "Do you realise you've been gone almost a day now? Jaras has been worried sick, and you know how hard it is to keep him sane in these kinds of situations. Are you-" Her features fell blank so quick that it was almost worrying. But then a devious smirk flickered across her thin lips, one that hinted to something far worse than simply getting lost in the forest. "Wait... no... were you two...?"

Confused, I frowned. "What?"

Her smirk only grew more crooked. "I get it. Next time keep your intensions inside the clan's walls, yeah? Safer that way."

Her implied suggestion slowly began to unravel. "What do you mean?"

She snorted, followed by a laugh. "Don't act all innocent. I understand. We've all done it. Testing uncharted waters, you know?" Her gaze fell on Solas, which only narrowed as it roamed him up and down, studying him. "No idea why'd you choose a flat-ear though. Thought you had better tastes, lethallin. Still, nothing better than touching the forbidden fruit."

At my utter shock, she continued. "Guess you could call it stretching the tree root, though Jaras himself has said it's more of a tumble in an ale keg. I have heard better ones, like tipping the arrow with the quiver, but in your situation I think it's better to say you've been shining the ol' staff and shields, yeah?"

Solas' frown was a fierce thing, yet the light warm tint on his ears told of something more.

If my embarrassment was not noticeable then, even with the fire's light across my face, I was sure it was by the time Cole said, "Solas doesn't have shields. He's a mage. Why would he shine shields that aren't his own?"

Varric, sat on the edge of a log, knew better than to sigh, knowing Cole so well and put a hand to his face. "Kid, has anyone told you about the birds and the bees?"

Cole innocently shook his head.

"Remind me to get someone on that," the dwarf muttered under his breath before he directed his attention to us. "Good to see you're back, Stranger, Chuckles. Should've seen this lot. They thought you were dead out there, but I managed to bring them around. Good thing you got back when you did, though."

It was then that I noticed that two of my companions were missing. "Where's Jaras and Dugan?"

"I sent them out in search of you, dear girl," said Keeper Athrion from the opposite end of the fire. With a heavy sigh, the elder elvhen rose to his feet and strode over to us. A comforting hand rested on my shoulder. "Couldn't stop them if I tried, I'm afraid. But do not worry. They will be back soon enough."

I gave a small nod and watched, slowly, as the Keeper returned to the aravel.

"That Keeper of yours is alright you know," Varric said as he leaned back. "Has some pretty amazing stories to tell. Even found the time to give me a few pointers on your clan's history, though honestly I blanked out for most if it. Nice guy though. Not what I expected."

"And what did you expect, child of the stone?" asked Solas curiously.

"Honestly? More frolicking through the forests, maybe dancing naked under the moonlight too. Though a friend of mine, Merrill, once said that elves don't frolick... much. Atleast not when there's humans around. Can understand why. No offence to you, Kid."

Cole smiled. "That's alright. I'm not really human."

"You're more human now than spirit, I'm afraid. How're you coping?"

"I'm doing fine, Varric. There's no need to worry. _Everyday I see him walking through Skyhold, lost as the day I first met him. People stare, whispering, sniggering, not knowing when to keep their damn mouths shut. Kid thinks it's the hat. I don't have the heart to tell him it's because he's different. I worry about him at times. Poor kid never should have been caught up in this mess."_

"Kind of hard not to worry when you're talking like that," said Varric with a chuckle. "But thanks."

"Varric?"

"Hmm?"

"What is wrong with my hat?"

At that, the dwarf looked to us for help but when he got none, he gestured to the ground with an outstretched hand and too friendly grin to be real. "Hey, Stranger, Chuckles. You guys must be hungry. Come on, grab something to eat."

Solas and I did not need to look at each other to know the answer. After a night and day of eating only bread, we were ready to eat anything else.

The fire seemed to grow brighter and brighter as time passed, while freshly hunted ram was roasted in the husk of the night, turning the meat from fleshy pink to a dark shade of brown. With forked sticks we ate. Varric spun a tale or two while Senna had thankfully left in wait of Jaras and Dugan. The meat tasted wonderful as did the berries, yet the clan was mostly quiet. Only a few songs were played that evening, mostly by lute, before one by one, family by family, evryone returned to their tents, saving for Solas, Varric and I.

Upon lookin at the sky and those around, Varric lifted himself from his seat and scratched the base of his neck. "Well, I think it's time to hit the hay before something else happens. Try to get some rest, Stranger. You too, Chuckles. Maker knows how much you like it."

"I'll try," I replied, but not as a promise.

As the dwarf's form disappeared into the black, I couldn't help but glance down at my arm and then to Solas. It concerned me, more then it should have since it had practically been a part of me for so long. I couldn't even remember what my skin looked like without the scars.

"Solas," I began in a hushed tone as the forked stick joined the fire. "The spirit. You don't think there's a way to communicate with it, do you?"

At first, he said nothing. The firelight cast his tome aglow while his face remained shrouded in shadow. After a flipped page and bent corner, he paused in his reading. By the Creators, he must have read that thing at least twice through. "I'm not sure."

"I think she, it, saved me from Despair."

"That is not surprising, given the nature of a spirit."

"But it_ saved_ me." My words took on more force then was needed. "It was the reason why I froze. Without it I should have died in that temple."

"Then what is the problem?"

"Spirits are supposed to help, even with no alterior motive?"

Solas straightened his back and cast his tome aside, knowing the conversation was not going to allow for further reading. "That is how a spirit exists, yes. Each has a purpose and they do not willingly stray from that purpose. It is what makes them unique. Similar to demons, demons only strive to do ill deeds as they are a spirit's purpose gone wrong, usually twisted by corrupted minds, while spirits in themselves strive to do only good."

"And if this spirit takes control of me?"

He frowned. "It will not."

"Why? Because a spirit strives to do only good?"

"Precisely. A spirit would not endanger a mortal less they have a purpose for it."

"And that is why you weren't concerned when you found out there was a spirit inside the shard," I said. "You knew it wouldn't control me."

"Not completely, but it was one of the reasons. I have been thinking about what you said, about the spirit helping you. It is possible that the spirit is one similar to Cole. One of compassion. It sought solely to help."

"But the pain-"

He held his hand up. "Is pain the spirit cannot control. You are both being bound to one another and so neither are able to control what is happening. And, as you said before, you felt no pain when your power was unleashed voluntarily. It is my belief that the spirit willingly allowed its power to be used, knowing we were in jeopardy."

"And it knew we were in trouble because of Despair," I added, as if the answer was obvious, as clear as day.

"Precisely."

"And you think it will just willingly let me use its power whenever I want?"

"It will take time," he said, "but you are gaining more control. As you do, eventually the spirit will have no choice but to relinquish its power altogether."

"And in doing so, eventually fade away."

"Yes."

"How interesting," I whispered thoughtfully and tugged my sleeve back. To think of such power at my control, yet to wonder what price it might hold.

Solas cast a look over the clan. "It is late. Best to retire for the evening. Sleep well, Da'len."

"You too, Solas."

To gain power from a trapped spirit, only to be able to use it at will. _Was that your plan all along, Dirthaman?_ I wondered. _To have those that followed you, that willingly consumed the shards by Varhel's authority, the shards you created, to gain power? For what reason? Why did you choose to let me live while the others stayed? What was your plan?_

What did you intend to do that made the Dread Wolf cage you?


	20. Sleepless

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty: Sleepless

Through the tent's parting came the soft crackle of a burning fire, flickering against the shadows that patterned the barren ground in waves. There was a singer's voice, a gruff and deep voice, muffled by the narrow tip of an oaken pipe that's smoky rings sailed into the charcoal sky, disappearing beneath the newly risen moon and twinkling stars, so distant that they could have been mistaken for fireflies.

I remembered the verse. _We are not alone, yet winter dawns in with a swift arrow, all we know is lost, yet we must press on, as steady as a beating drum in this world of stone..._

An old Dalish tune. One only the Keeper knew and yet sung so mournfully that one could feel the sorrow behind it.

The song broke off at the last unsteady note and only when silence fell did the light steps of my feet catch the Keeper's keen ears. He did not turn, nor look back. He merely continued to smoke his pipe, blowing out wisps that trailed embers, and when the wind picked up, he took the pipe from his chapped lips and whistled a faint tune, soft to the ears.

A sheen of sweat covered the elder elvhen's brow, while wisps of white hair clung to his wrinkled skin. It was a strange thing to see one age, especially when it did not happen in my time. Age was not physical but mental. The bodies did not decay without control. It simply was not true. And yet there he was, appearing older after each passing year, seeing death in every wrinkle, aching bone and greying lock.

"Don't linger by the shadows, Elgar'shiral. It'd do you no good. You've lingered there for too long," the Keeper said in a solemnly hushed tone. There was sincerity behind it, a deeper meaning that we both understood. He gestured to the space beside him with a light pat of the ground. "Sit and tell me what keeps you up so past dusk. And you need not stare. I know how I must look to one such as you."

"You do not look a day over fifty years, Keeper," I said.

He chuckled, a dry chuckle that brought on a hollow cough. "As said before, a poor liar. Age I do not fear, as much as what awaits the other side."

"You do not believe in Falon-Din?" I sat at his side. An arm rested over one knee to support my chin. "The keeper of the beyond?"

Keeper Athrion gave another deep, throaty chuckle and blew out a thin trail of smoke. "The guide to the afterlife? At my age, there's room to be unsure."

"The Gods existed once. They may still do."

"They have ignored our plights for far too long, dear girl," he stated, unable to keep a bite from his tone. "I have come to the conclusion that there are no Gods looking over us. If there were, Fen'Harel long hid them away, leaving us to suffer."

"Do you truly believe the Dread Wolf was responsible?"

"Do you have a better reason, girl?"

"You know what I believe," I said and tugged my robe tighter around myself.

"Indeed, but you are over eight thousand years too late. You were not there when the Gods disappeared and when our empire crumbled into dust." Orange specks flashed in his eyes as he watched the fire closely. His lips curved downward. "These legends are all we know to be true."

"The Gods were not always perfect, Keeper," I whispered. "In times of spite they waged wars among themselves, bitterly pit elvhen against elvhen, but never would they abandon their people to such a length. I believe they cared for the People once and still do. Whatever happened, be it the Dread Wolf or an unknown being, I still believe they will come back."

"Such faith is bright in the young, but in the old it is merely something to be thought over. But you did not answer my question, dear girl. What keeps you up so?"

I looked down. "Dreams. Whispers in my ears. I see his face every night."

The Keeper nodded knowingly. "Ah, Him."

"What if he was right? What if we are more connected then I realised? What if he knows where I am? What if-"

The Keeper _tsked_. "Too many questions for one night, dear girl. Too many questions. No wonder you are deprived of sleep." He gently squeezed my shoulder. "Listen to an old man's advice for a change. Worry less on your old master and worry more on what is happening to you. Your old master may be anywhere and these dreams of yours may be his design to torment, to get you to forget what is important."

"I wish it was that simple," I said and allowed my gaze to fall on the firelight. Its waving flares easily enticed distraction.

"It can be. But I fear that is not all keeping you awake."

Of course he would notice. I let out a heavy sigh. "We need to leave for Skyhold soon, Keeper."

"As you should."

I looked up, surprised. "You're not upset?"

"You have your own path you must take, but that does not mean that I will not miss the company." His words fell on deft lips for several moments before he sighed and wiped his brow. "I have something I must tell too, child. I am getting old and it will be soon that the clan will need a new Keeper, one that can guide through the perils of this world. Keep them safe. I want you to be that person."

For the better half of the hour, I simply stared at him, unbelieving, but it was clear from his posture, shoulders back and head high, his pipe back between his teeth and lips in a fine line, that he was serious.

"Keeper..." I searched the fire, as if the excuse lay in the there. "I appreciate the offer, but I cannot-"

Keeper Athrion raised his hand. "Merely think it over. I need not an answer yet."

"What of Cyrian? He is the Second-"

"Exactly," he said sharply. "The second to me. There is a reason I did not choose him to be the first. The day I saw how he jealously guarded the title. He would not put the clan's needs before his own and selfishness is not a virtue a Keeper should value."

"And you think I wouldn't do the same?" I asked hesitantly.

"I believe that if you do, it will be the fall of you. And you know more than any previous Keeper could hope to know. You are from our past, have lived what we could only imagine. Merely think on it, dear girl. As I said, I need not an answer yet."

Keeper Lahris Elgar'shiral, the First and ancestor of Clan Sahlin. The title sent shivers down the spine. I could scarcely believe it. Such responsibility was not meant for me. It was a burden, a curse, and I already had my own problems. Adding another onto them, a title and position nonetheless, with more than fifty others with most untrusting was just foolish. What the Keeper had in mind and how he even thought of the idea was beyond me.

Gazing into the camp, I caught the glimpse of Solas retreating from his tent, showing concern, more so than usual. In his hand was a cup, still warm by the steam that lifted from it. A cloud seemed to be hung over him, as ragged and dark as his cloak preventing the cold night's chill.

At the sight of the apostate, Keeper Athrion blew out another puff of smoke, one that joined the fire's in a tangled dance, before he took to his feet, grunting slightly as he did so. "Think over my proposal, dear girl," he said with a light smile and then walked away.

Solas must have noticed the elder elvhen leaving as he soon took his place, legs folded and cup poised between his finger and thumb, by the fire.

"Evening," I said with a slight smile on my lips.

He gave a light bow of his head in greeting and brought the cup to his lips.

Solas' face turned a slight shade of green at the taste and it was all he could do to not bring it back up.

A root-like smell, a mixture of pine and river water, filled the senses and it was only when I caught sight of the muddy water that I realised what it was.

"That's tea," I said incredulously.

He merely cast a sideward glance and took another sip. "Indeed it is."

"How did you even get tea?" I asked at his souring expression.

"I bring it with me on my travels. It has its uses," he said. "Though it's uses are never pleasant."

"I see. And your reason for drinking tea is?"

"I needed to shake the dreams from my mind." He glanced away. "It was... unpleasant."

"Tell me about it."

For a heartbeat, I thought I glimpsed fear in the elvhen's pale eyes. The look was gone in an instant and Solas left his place to pace about the area restlessly, muttering as he walked. "One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept."

"Captured? How was he or she captured?

"You mean it."

I felt my brows furrow. "It? Then it is a spirit."

"Yes. My friend is a spirit of wisdom. Unlike the spirits clamouring to enter our world, it was dwelling quite happily in the Fade. It was summoned against its will, and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the Fade."

"Don't spirits want to enter our world, or have I misjudged that?"

He scowled. "Some do, certainly, just as many Orlesian peasants wish they could journey to exotic Rivain. But not everyone wants to go to Rivain. My friend is an explorer, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but it had no wish to come here physically."

"Then why would they summon it if they can just talk to it?" I asked and stood. "Unless they intend to know something it doesn't want to say."

Solas sighed gravelly. "That's what I have been thinking. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but why would a mage capture my friend unless it did not wish to co-operate?" He tried to mask his anger, but his voice more than showed it. "It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it. It's because of this that I need a favour from you and the others."

"Ma nuvenin," I said. "We have time on our side. Where are we going to go?"

Solas took a deep breath and bowed his head. "Thank you for this. I got a sense of my friend's location before I awoke. Do you have a map?"

I reached into the thick black felt of my satchel and pulled out a partly torn-edged map, one I had found in the Inquisition Vault, though it was not like anyone would miss it. Solas knelt on the ground as the map was spread flat. The map displayed most of Fereldan and Orlais and I had taken the time in marking places that were worth knowing and those that were too dangerous to travel. I gave the apostate a roll of charcoal and he quickly slashed a cross in the south-eastern part of Orlais in a place called the Emerald Graves.

"It is far," Solas said as he leaned back on his heels, "but if we hurry, we may get there in time before the mages do anything to my friend."

My gaze lingered on the map. It was a long way and was a path that led passed the Frostback Mountains. There was no telling how far the Inquisition's spies were in looking for us. It may have only been a step out of the Brecilian Forest for them to know where we were. But Solas' friend was in danger, and though it felt foolish to go so far out, it was for a worthy cause, or at least I forced myself to believe that.

"Then we better go before something happens." I picked the map up by the corners, folded it and placed it back into the satchel. The felt's lace was pulled tight. "I do not know where this place is, though. I've never been to the Emerald Graves."

"I have been there once with the Inquisitor. I can show us the way."

"Then we leave at dawn."

...

_Just a quick chapter as the next one is going to be well long..._  
_Thanks so much to everyone who's commented 3 I'm glad you're enjoying the story!_


	21. All New, Faded For Her

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty One: All New, Faded For Her

The morning air was light against the vast grasslands of the Emerald Graves with tall rock formations dotting the landscape in hazy shadows. We abandoned the forest and journeyed north, following the slow bending river, marked by blood lotus and spindleweed that waved in its slow current. Solas had warned that Inquisition forces had taken root in the area and in consideration of that, it was decided that it would be better to stay away from the roads and instead keep close to the wilds. The Inquisition likely already knew of our location but if any soldiers spotted our coming, they would insist on us returning to Skyhold. They might have even sent an envoy to make sure we returned safely.

Reflections rippled against the steady strides of Assan's legs through the clear water's surface. Ever since we arrived, he had pulled restlessly against his reins, hoping to free enough of himself to gallop off into the open plains. The need for it was a part of his nature that could not be sated easily, but the land was foreign, dangerous and there was no telling if there were any wolves, bears or bandits around. Letting him go, no matter how much he wished it, was not worth the risk.

The disturbance of the water became little more than shallow waves as we left the river, headed off the pebbled shore and onto the land.

The elvhen apostate glanced into the distance. His gaze searched the landscape and caught the odd herd of halla grazing in the tall reeds. He gestured further north and took his place by my side. As we walked, he reached out to touch Assan's nose. Strangely the stallion replied in kind, allowing the apostate to stroke his head and neck.

"How did you happen upon your horse, Da'len?" Solas asked. "It seems an unusual beast for one such as you to have as a companion."

I glanced back at Assan, having noticed that he had calmed immensely from Solas' gentle touch, and smiled. "You're wondering why I don't ride a halla."

"I admit I am curious."

"It's quite a tale if you care to hear it." I cleaned my throat. "A few months after I settled with the Sahlin clan, Jaras took me out hunting one summer's eve. We hadn't caught anything and were bound to head back when out of nowhere a herd of horses came stampeding through the forest. A bear chased most of them away, but one horse, barely two years old, was left behind fighting for his life. The rest of the herd had moved on but the bear stayed behind. Jaras tried to kill it before it did Assan harm but it was too fast. A well-placed spell managed to scare it off but when we saw Assan, we found that the bear had ripped his leg badly. I stayed with him while Jaras went back to get the Keeper. By the time he returned, be it from fear, love or simply desperation, Assan had decided that he wouldn't leave my side. The halla master tried to drag him away but it didn't work. So, I stayed with him when he was being tended to and, once he was nursed back to health, the Keeper allowed me to keep him. He's around five years old now and we've been with each other ever since. One thing I first noticed was his spirit. Can't keep him in the stables for long. He gets restless. Prefers to be outside. You should see him run. I tell you, he's faster than any stallion."

"A fortunate coincidence you happened upon him when you did."

"I like to think of it as fate." Assan's ears twitched at the flock of hawks circling the horizon. Catching his bridle and tugging him forward, Assan moved at a swifter pace. His mane caught the air as it swayed. The dirt clouded his hooves while the sacks attached to his saddle clanked and rattled.

Solas picked up the pace, only slowing when we reached an abandoned path. Once there, we waited for the rest of our company to catch up. "You believe in fate?"

"I believe in a lot of things," I said. "I believe fate brings good things as well as bad. Though, sometimes I believe that bad things are the result of irresponsible and foolish people."

A momentary pause, and then he asked, "And what about the Gods in our pantheon? Do you not believe in the 'Creators'?"

"Ah," I said when the others finally reached us. I turned to walk. "Now that's the question, isn't it? Are the tales of the Gods true or not? I've heard the Dalish tales. They're creative at best. Some of them can be believed, I suppose, but others are little more than myths shared over an evening with no truths behind them."

"Not surprising considering you came from a time when such beings supposedly existed."

"They _did_ exist," I whispered and looked him steadily in the eye. "I know many wonder if they truly existed or if the Dalish created them to set themselves apart from the humans, but it is true that they did. They once ruled over our people. Sometimes they were wise rulers, worthy of respect. Sometimes they were tyrants. They cared for us though. As to where they've gone now, I do not know."

Solas stood straighter then, his expression serious. "What do you believe?"

And there it was: that curious curiosity that seemed to appear out of nowhere, like he was trying to understand me, or decide whether what I said held any truth or was nothing more than lies. I could not blame him for that. "For an answer you'll need to answer something in return."

Solas raised a brow, amused. "Our questioning and answering continues then?"

"Yes. Give me a while to think of a question."

"Ma nuvenin, Da'len."

We followed the path to a pass in the hillsides that wound through the land as both steep and narrow. Its tall walls hid the sun and were so constricted that Assan could barely pass through without grazing his sides against the sharp contoured rocks. Yet despite the many sharp bends, it meandered through the land in a way that was quicker to travel than simply going around the hillsides, and eventually ended, opening up into a valley of grassland. We took several turns through the valley, across many standing stones, so tall they could have been mistaken for trees, and to a place scattered with dry roots unearthed from the ground.

"Everything here is blurry," Cole said sorrowfully as he looked over the patches of stonework: lichen-ridden, cracked and half sunk into the earth. They looked like they had once been part of a great castle or tower, now lost to the ages. "It wants to forget, but now the rocks are solid."

I glanced back at Varric who merely shrugged.

"There's sadness here. A sickness. This land isn't well. Death's been here recently." Cole's steps faltered by Assan. Beneath the sharp corners of his low-hung hat was a face partly hidden by shadow, yet it was not his face that gave his thoughts away, but his posture: slightly hunched with hands kneading the baggy cloth of his shirt. Something was wrong, something that deeply troubled him. Without warning, his hat whipped up and hand pointed outward. "There."

As if sensing something was wrong, Assan began to stir. His hind legs kicked and thrashed in an attempt to escape. In one swift tug I managed to take a firm hold of his bridle and forced his head down, hoping to calm him from whatever plagued his mind. It took many moments before his breathing had steadied and I was able to let him go.

Behind, the cause for both Cole and Assan's behaviour was clear. Mere several strides down the path and just below the grass-line were many scattered forms lying still, surrounded by the black wings and sharp cries of crows looting the charcoaled remains of a once wooden cart. The bodies were pale, lifeless and cold under frayed fur fabric - bandits. Their clothing was ripped open and covered in dried crimson, while their hands and feet were black from both being burned and from wounds that no longer bled. Solas knelt next to one of the bodies for a closer inspection. The body was clothed differently from the others, with a woollen robe sewn in gold lace. An arrow stuck out of its spine. Solas' eyes narrowed curiously. "One of the mages. Killed by bandits it would seem." His gaze slipped over to the other bodies. His brows connected. "These aren't mages. The bodies are burned, and these claw marks..." Solas swiftly peered beyond the string of bodies to the valley. The hard planes of his face were so akin to worry, so unlike his composed self that it made my chest constrict in slight fear. It only grew more concerning as he whispered fretfully under his breath, "No. No. No. No," and bolted from his place.

He hastily looked upon the spots of red across the grass, dirt and path and followed the trail that headed away from the bodies and into the plains. The trail veered, looped and crossed as if some drunken meander, leaving a frenzied scrawl of bloody boot and hand-shaped prints.

There was no ending the apostate's hunt for the cause of what happened. As the trails of blood became more potent and thick, his swift walk became a hurried sprint. It was as if he had forgotten about the rest of our company. It was as if the only thing that mattered was where the trail ended. At the foreboding sense of what we were being led into, I hoped to Dirthamen that it would not be what I feared.

Solas ceased moving. His face paled in mingled shock and horror.

Bound by a circle of stone pillars that hummed with the faint vibrations of magic was a mountain of a creature, cocooned in a mass of black spikes upon its knobbed body plates, and hard, hooked talons that clutched the roots of long dead trees as if in pain. Sparks of electricity pulsated between the spikes and crown of its tall horns, only to shudder its bladed shoulders as it sniffed the air. It only took a glance to recognise the creature for what it was. A pride demon.

Solas' voice caught in his throat. "My friend..." He suddenly growled and threw his face into his hands.

I mouthed a silent curse. The realisation of what I had been naively brought into hit me as hard as a slap across the face. "Is your friend supposed to look like that?" I snapped at the apostate. "That looks more like a demon then a spirit, Solas. You said it was a _spirit_. What kind of fool do you take me for?"

"A spirit becomes a demon when it is denied its original purpose!" he growled back; eyes rimmed red with tears he was too proud to shed. He stared back at his hands, hopeless. "That is not its original form. It has been corrupted. What did they do? What did they do?"

"A mage!" a voice cracked through the valley. It was a man, a human man to be more accurate; one that slowly parted from the rock formations he had previously cowered behind with raised hands. Despite being thick of neck and round faced with a thin stash curling his lip, the minor scrapes on his person and mattered ends of his magi robes seemed to be the only parts of him that led to questions. For the rest of him, he seemed to be no worse for wear. "You're not with the bandits?"

Jaras scoffed. "Great. More shemlen. Just what we need."

Ignoring his comment, the mage continued. "Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We've been fighting that demon."

Varric gripped the bridge of his nose. "Shit. Should've seen this coming."

"You summoned that demon, except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time!" Solas snapped. His hatred was apparent to all with eyes. His tone quickly turned deadly cold. "You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose."

"I-I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons," the mage stammered. His hands rose higher at the unexpected hostility. "But after you help us, I can-"

Solas pressed his lips firmly together and then drew them taut in an attempt to still his rage. By their whitening shade, his control was waning fast. "We are not here to help _you_." He spat the last word out as if it was venom on the tongue.

"No," I said carefully, not wanting to test his temper further. "We are not here to help them. And a word of advice, human. Don't explain how demons work to my friend here. He, after all, isn't foolish enough to summon demons."

"We didn't know it was a demon!" The mage cursed as his composure collapsed, replaced by fear. "The book said it would help us."

He spoke the truth. The fear induced his words, made it so all he could say was the truth to save his own skin. But my gaze drifted to the demon in the distance. Bound. Pained. Not the monster I first thought. Pity welled in my chest at the sight. If what Solas believed was true, then it was a victim to the human's foolishness and should be helped. "Can we help the spirit now that it is a demon?"

The mage's face shifted, deforming into a humorous mask of shock and outrage. Hands flapped the air as if he were speaking to a child. "You cannot befriend a demon. However amicable it might appear, it must-" At a loss for words, he hastily rubbed his temples and sighed as he spoke. "Look. Listen to me. I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle-"

"Shut. Up." Solas moved forward. The mage stumbled back, only to collide into the face of a scarred boulder. "You summoned it to protect you from the bandits."

The mage looked between the five of us helplessly. At the realisation that there was no hope for lying, the admission came as a defeated nod.

"You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. _That _was when it turned." Solas turned to me, the anger lessening only slightly when an idea formed in his mind. "The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill. No conflict with its nature. No demon."

The mage shook his head. "What? The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us. Whatever it was before, it is a monster now."

A flicker of annoyance lit at the mage's words. I frowned at him. "A monster you created. The spirit's change is your fault."

"You think we don't know that? But we've exhausted our power trying to keep it contained. Letting it loose is a fool's plan. We'd all end up killed."

"Or just you."

At the newly risen silence, Solas turned to face me eye to eye without a trace of fear, only his waning hope. "Lahris. Please."

It was at that moment that I realised I had gotten myself into a predicament I could not back away from lightly. Demon or not the spirit was Solas' friend. Something had to be done. "Fenedhis. Fine. But we're not fighting that demon. We need to try and keep it distracted while the rest of us put an end to the binding stones."

"Not to be that one person but how do we do that?" asked Varric.

Solas was more than happy to explain. "The magic within them is stable for now but it can be easily triggered. Bolts and swords can disrupt the power flow inside, causing the binding stones to fail on their own. Magic is more effective but in the end it should not matter."

"But destroying the binding stones is useless if we cannot get to them. The demon will need to be distracted." I looked back at the creature and noticed the sturdiness of its scales. "Varric, try to aim your crossbow at the demon's armour plates. They're thick enough to protect it from your attacks but may be enough to keep it busy. Cole, you get to the furthest binding stone. Do what you can." At the command, the spirit disappeared. "Solas, help Varric. You know more about your friend than anyone else here. Maybe you can reason with it. If the worst comes, I trust you will know what to do. Jaras, Dugan, come with me."

The human mage's eyes rose at the words and plan, but he did not speak. I considered having him help but it seemed that he would only get himself killed in the process.

Our words were cut short by a roar, wild, savage and shrill. The form of the demon obscured the sun as it rose from its crouched position. The binding stones sparked against the strike of its wicked talons and the demon was temporarily set free from its cage.

With a sharp tug of the reins, Assan had slipped from my grasp. The stallion's galloping hoof-beats faded into the open plains until his form had disappeared entirely. Before I could react, Solas had grasped my arm and tugged me to him, pointing to the demon ahead. "Focus. We must hurry!"

I nodded. Assan would be safe on his own. What was important was to end the demon's rampage before one of us got badly hurt. "Dareth [Be safe]," I said as we parted.

Solas gave a shallow nod. "Dareth, Da'len," he said before he followed Varric onto the steeper hill ranges and readied himself for the battle that was surely going to be difficult for us all.

A low rumble sounded deep in the throat of the demon as its many red eyes, slit into its conical cranium scanned the surroundings, narrowing on the dwarf and apostate stood on a ledge not too far away. At the demon's frightening quickness they began their attacks. Arrows flickered through the air. Spells shimmered off the demon's armour as balls of erupted energy.

Convincingly distracted, I took to the first binding pillar and channelled my magic into the stone with a press of my hand. There was a will inside the pillar, something that kept it connected to the demon. It was a piece of what the spirit once was trapped within. Yet it hammered restlessly against it walls, willing to be free.

Ice cracked the pillar's ruptures, widening and splitting chunks of rock off with each slash of my arms. The ground thrummed with the newly ripped stone, causing jagged stacks beside my feet like the end of a landslide. Inside the binding pillar, a glowing ball of green energy flashed. Another hit. Another chunk dislodged. Again, the energy flashed, more and more until the stone erupted into a mound of debris. It was free. The spirit's essence latched onto the demon's chest in long wisps, pinning it down. It dropped to its knees and growled a long, painful howl.

Behind, Cole and Jaras used the sharp edges of their blades to notch the stone as easily as a dagger splinters wood. Again, the spirit's essence shone through the cracks. With each new strike, more of the spirit was free.

Dugan, with the use of his axe, hit certain points on his pillar in order to weaken it. He began at the base and then diagonally hit its surface with his weapon's blunt end. With a lasting, swift curve of his body, he hurtled the axe into the centre of the stone. It fell apart instantly.

After a glance between the three of them, they all moved towards the final two pillars.

I moved to join them, only when I took half a step forward, my eyes caught onto the shadow that crossed mine. My breathing hardened and eyes turned wide. There was only one thing that could cast such a shadow. Turning, I saw it, splattered with what could only have been its blood. Shock rose up from the lower half of my body as the creature and I stared at one another, unblinking. A forked tongue lapped over a pair of keen incisors, only to catch at the tip and draw blood. It oozed down the demon's mouth as its lips widened into a fiendish grin. An arm extended. Magic trailed from a talon and slithered across the ground in a long vine. Electricity danced around its length, jolting the earth and burning the grass.

I whispered a curse under my breath.

The whip uncurled and was raised above the creature's horns in one long flick. At the crackle of a spark, I jumped back. Dust burst from the earth as the whip smacked it and then recoiled. Heaving for air, I rolled from one place to another and skimmed boulders in the hope that the demon would lose sight of me, or perhaps forget about me altogether. It did not. With each strike, the demon gained an idea of my next movement. Eventually, it managed to guess which route I would take and blocked each with a sharp, blinding spark. It lured me into an open area away from the binding pillars. A heavy wind blew over the field as I staggered to a halt, jostling the few trees in the area back and forth in a mimic of the creature's rising irritation. Upon the demon's growing strides I stepped back until the cool touch of a river sank into my boots. The coldness continued to creep into my clothes until it rested above my waist. My hands spread outward to drift lifelessly in the water's gentle current. An idea came to mind.

Noticing the strangeness of my action, the demon paused to look down at the water. It laughed.

On impulse I tilted of my head and waited. Heartbeats drew into long moments and nothing passed between us. Then the whip was pulled back. The tip curved in the air. I let out a calming breath and watched the tail flip.

Hands slapped the water hard and with the force of magic, sent a large wave forward. The water glistened against the sunlight until it froze into a thick layer of uneven ice upon the river, shielding me from the demon's attack. Knowing the water had reached the demon's legs, I pushed through the river until I landed on the muddy shoreline. Ice ringed its waist, immobilising it from all movement. It was then that the last of the binding pillars had been dealt with. The last of the spirit's essence clutched onto the demon's form tight, unwilling to let go.

Deathly silence fell upon the plains. The demon bent low as ice shattered around it in a rain of glassy shards. For long moments it stayed that way, crouched over itself as the pieces of its spirit bonded and sealed in long laces around its body, tightening the demon within and allowing the spirit to shine through. An eerie glow enveloped the creature, changing its armoured, gnarled and monstrous form into a dimly lit orb that spread out into its true body: a woman, mortal in appearance but with eyes that burned with the raw essence of the Fade itself, green and bright like a sun.

The spirit laid on the ground, delicate, fragile, eyes downcast as if in shame and fingers entwined in her gown's skirt.

Slightly unsure in my approach, I leaned forward in the hope to catch the spirit's gaze. "Elgar? Spirit?" She did not look up. "You are a spirit, yes? No longer a demon?"

She closed her eyes, then whispered under her breath in a tongue long forgotten to most that only few would understand. "Ir tel'him, lethallin." _'I am me again...'_

I stepped back slightly, surprised that she answered in my own language. Before I could ask her another question, quiet steps ceased moving from the shoreline. Solas.

He approached the spirit slow and careful, as if one wrong move or touch would hurt her, and knelt before his friend. Long, elegant fingers brushed her cheek, only to rest there with a thumb gently grazing her jawbone.

At that point, I realised, with a sinking heart, that it was too late.

"Lethallin..." Solas sucked in a breath, one that hitched in his throat and shook his shoulders, "ir abelas." '_One of my people,'_ was what his words meant. _'I am sorry.' _

Beneath glowing lashes, she looked up, answering with a faint smile. "Tel'abelas. Enasal. Ir tel'him." '_I'm not. I'm happy. I'm me again.'_ Her hand softly covered his as she turned to face the cloudless sky of grey, whispering, "Vhen'alas atisha. Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din'an."_'This land is peaceful. You helped me. Now you must endure. Guide me into death.'_

A cold wind whispered through the trees and caressed the ends of both Solas' cloak and the spirit's hair. He stared at her for a long time and thought over her request even longer. The spirit reflected his pain in her expression, yet managed to tug his fingers free from hers and let them rest by his side.

"Lethallin..."

Solas straightened. The sorrow of what he was about to do betrayed his voice. "Ma nuvenin." _As you wish._

Arms extended outward, barely grazing her sides. The spirit gave him one last knowing smile, confident and unafraid, before her form slipped away with the passing wind like dying leaves wilting in a bitter autumn's eve.

She disappeared in a way that made me wonder if she ever truly existed in the material world. There was no physical sign to prove that she had been there except for a memory.

A gentle sigh left Solas' lips once he rose to his feet. He stared down at the dirt streaked across the back of his hands as if the blood of his friend stained them. He was upset, frowning in an attempt to hide his emotions while unsure of what to do with himself, and I had no idea what to say.

His friend had been lost, guided into death in front of my very eyes and still I remained unresponsive and unable to quite come to terms with it. There was nothing a person could say after watching their friend lose a beloved one. Nothing could make any of his pain more bearable. "Solas..." My lips moved in a way to express my sorrow, but it took many attempts before anything meaningful came out. "Ir abelas. Ma melava na falon." _I am filled with sorrow for your loss. You helped your friend._ "She's in a better place now. May Falon-din-" I winced. He did not believe in the Creators. The softening of his gaze, however, told of his appreciation for the gesture. "You did all you could."

"Now I must endure," he whispered in an echo of his friend's wise words.

_Not alone,_ I wanted to say. Only the words did not make it to the surface. It was too soon.

His sadness did not last. Upon the appearance of familiar magi, his furious eyes turned to their running forms, and not long after they drew breath, he spat, "All that remains now is them."

"Thank you," said the mage we had first come in contact with, followed by two others, unaware of what truly transpired. "We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected."

"Shemlen thanking us for a change." Jaras blew sharply through his cracked tooth, making a hiss with obvious feigned shock. "Never thought I'd see the day."

If it was any other occasion I may have laughed at his jest, but I did not then.

Robes flapping, Solas hounded the mages like a lone wolf trapping its prey into a corner ready for the kill. "You tortured and killed my friend," he said.

All three mages stumbled back on his approach. "We didn't know it was just a spirit!" yelled the first in panic. "The book said it could help us."

"Lass, what's the mage doing?" Jaras asked quickly, concern showing on his face. At the eager flames dancing across Solas' fingertips, he rushed forward, took my arm and pulled back. "Da'mi, what's he doing? You need to stop him. Now. Now, before he does something he'll regret."

With a lick of my lips and a glance to the scene that was being played out, I reluctantly pulled back from him and said nothing.

The shock was evident in the tenseness of his shoulders and raised brows. He turned on his heels and called out. "Mage! Lad, stop right there. It isn't worth it. Think about what you're doing. Trust me, I don't usually care for shemlen, honest, but this isn't the way. Lad? Damn it. Varric make him see sense."

Varric mirrored his concern, but said, "What do you want me to do about it, Quick-Fingers? This isn't my decision."

"Stay out of this, long-ear," Dugan commanded. "This one's got to make his own choice."

"But they didn't know any better." Jaras looked to me once more. "Da'mi, don't let him do this."

It was then that a flame caught my eye, fuelled by rage and sorrow. "Solas."

The magic receded from his touch, but his fingers twitched in the lust for blood, to see those that did him wrong be punished by his hand. He glanced back, though not completely, just enough to see the scorn in his eyes. It would not last. The rage inside could only be caged for so long as I knew all too well. The mages were on their knees, weak and helpless. Their magic had depleted before we arrived. With little in defence they made up for in pity, clasping their hands and begging the Maker to stay Solas' wrath. They were fools that squandered their power without thought. Many lives were lost because of them. They claimed to be innocent and intelligent but their intelligence cost them. But then there was Solas, blinded by rage and unable to see sense. What Jaras said held truth. The mages did what they did out of fear, but in the end, the decision was not mine to make and Solas had already made his. I sighed to myself, knowing what had to be done and what I would have done in that situation. "Make it quick."

The smell of dying grass was rich in the air. Screams carried through the plains once the smoke rose into the sky. Flames seared cloth, flesh and bone in a quick, merciful blaze. There was no suffering at least. The death was instantaneous, the screams only from the shock of the action, and by the time the fire had begun to die, little of the mage's bodies remained.

Solas stood before the burned ash, head bowed and fists tight. "Damn them all." He had quickly become a pale, worn out and frayed husk, paler than what he once was with every line of a tired face etched with grief. "I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold." He walked away, shaking his head as he did so. Solas' threadbare robes, black at the ends from the battle, were the last thing to see until he disappeared over the distant hills.

It had grown dark by the time we had found Assan and began our long journey back to Skyhold. The stallion had only been a mile away in a neighbouring pasture and he had been making his way back by the time we had found him. If one thing could be said about that horse, it was that he never left for long. He always found his way back no matter where I was.

The path through the Emerald Graves was quiet. Only the wildlife and rustling trees passed as sound. The battle had left us all exhausted, battered and hollow inside, but it was Jaras who was affected the most. Flushed in shame he refused to walk alongside me, preferring to travel with the dwarves. Even Cole seemed distant and that was unlike the spirit.

At the hour of twilight, when the sky became the shade of purple that reminded those of an old bruise, and when the first of the many stars peeked through the cloudless rifts, Jaras asked, "You haven't changed at all, have you, Da'mi?"

Assan stirred as I turned back in surprise. I half expected him to keep quiet the whole way back.

His voice turned sharp. "What happened to repentance? What happened to forgiving? What happened to changing your morals? 'Ey? What happened to you wanting to change your life, to no longer be what you were before? What in the bloody Creator's name was that? Those shemlen made a mistake! One mistake."

"It cost a life, Jaras."

"A spirit's life, and again they lost plenty of their own to it."

I frowned and looked back to the path ahead. The smell of leaf and earth grew more potent as we walked deeper into the forest. White paintings of the Dalish in that region were plastered above the cave walls we passed while statues of wolves, owls and other deities risked appearances from behind overgrown climbers and shrubs. Perhaps they led to lost knowledge or gave way to a hint to my people's history. It was said that after the fall of Arlathan those than lived had built a civilisation within the Emerald Graves. Oh, how curiosity was such a dastardly temptress. But then my thoughts drifted back to the mages and the spirit's death. "They were foolish."

Jaras' laughter was as rough as a blade on stone. He spread his arms wide. "And who isn't in this day and age, 'ey? I've made my own foolish mistakes as has everyone else. What are you going to do? Kill me when I next make a mistake? Are you going to let your mage friend do it instead of you?"

I almost wanted to laugh. He knew I would never do that. "They deserved their fate. You wouldn't understand."

"No." His look turned to disdain, a scornful thing that was rarely used unless it was directed at humans. "Da'mi. I wouldn't."

I tugged the bridle back. Assan halted and I handed Cole the reins. Cole blinked at the reins as if it were some foreign object he had never seen before, but once he saw the guileless and trusting brown eyes of the horse attached to it, he visibly eased. He smiled when Assan sniffed his hair.

"What would you have done if you were in Solas' position?" I strode up to Jaras and halted just a hair's width away from his face. His scowl had not lessened, in fact I was sure it had deepened if only a little. "If I was the one those mages had killed? What if it was the clan they had killed, perhaps to save themselves? Would you have let them live or would you have acted like Solas did and killed them?"

"Don't try to make excuses for him."

My gaze drifted to the trees around before returning to him. "I'm not making excuses, Jaras, but can you not see what I am trying to make you understand? It's simple to label blame but you cannot possibly know what it was like to make that kind of decision lest you have been through it yourself. He made a choice. He has to live with the consequences. If you had been in the spirit's place, if it was you the mages had killed, I would not hesitate to end every last one of them."

The tension eased from his shoulders and, slowly, he bowed his head. "I know."

I gently touched his chin and tipped it up. A smile crossed my features, forced but necessary. "Don't think for a moment that I didn't consider preventing Solas from doing it. I'm not the same person I was eighty centuries ago. I'm trying to change, truly I am, but in that moment, I made a decision and I stand by it. I hope you can forgive me."

He nodded against my fingers. "You know I'll forgive you, lass and even if I didn't, it wouldn't mean I'd leave you alone, so don't fret about that. Just give me time to think it over. What happened... it's not something I can just get over like you. I've only seen so much death in this life. I'm not used to it like you."

"I understand."

Dugan cleared his throat softly. "Don't mean to interrupt but wouldn't you say that the bald long-ear acted strangely, you know for being all peaceful and calm? Think about it. Alright, Lahris, I get you have a past, that's why you let the bald long-ear kill the mages, but which of us thought the bald one had a dark side? Hmm? None of ya. Neither did I. Any of you see the way he handled those surface-dwellers? Man's got cold eyes and a cold heart like stone. Seen it too many times in Orzammar. There's somethin' he ain't tellin' us."

What he said had sense to it, which led me to ask, "You're sure about that?"

"Uh-huh," said the dwarf. "I should be worried about you. I'm not. You have Jaras here taking care of ya and to keep you on the straight and narrow. He, the twinkly fingered long-ear without the hair's lost his ghost friend in the ground. He's got no one stopping him. Makes a dwarf like me nervous is all I'm sayin'. Just watch yourself. You. Jaras. You watch her too, yeah?"

"I know, lad," Jaras said, smiling lightly.

"I'm not a child," I said between them. "I can take care of myself."

Dugan snorted. "I know, long-ear, but it's you who's closest to the bald one. If anythin' were to happen, it'd happen to you first."


	22. Wicked Grace

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty Two: Wicked Grace

"And it seems that I win again. Funny how that plays out," said Varric as he laid his cards bare for all to see. Many fleshy figures huddled around the table, some clad in thick mercenary cuirasses with the Inquisition's sigil and others in farmer garbs, all suspicious in their own right, and all turned to stare at the dwarf's hand as if a crown and jewels had sprouted above his head in a declaration of being named the king of Skyhold. He may have been with the amount of dented copper and polished silver he quickly collected in greedy bear arms.

The iron rim of Jaras' tankard clanged hard against the table's edge, dripping bloody juice against the dusty surface. He cursed hoarsely under his breath. "How in the Creator's name did you pull that one off, lad? Could have sworn I almost had you there. No, something's up. You've gotta be cheating."

"The surface-dweller does seem to have added a card to his hand that weren't there before," said Dugan. He held his monocle between a thumb and finger and turned it ever so slightly to the other dwarf. "Or maybe this monocle of mine's finally cracked. Hmm." The lack of winning did not sway the dwarf off, however, as he quickly flung a purse next to his mug collection. "Another game, surface-dweller! I think I have this game pegged now."

Varric chuckled. "Sure thing, Crazy. What about you, Stranger? Got any good hands in the last few games?"

At the sound of the nickname, I looked up from my cards, broke out the most charming smile I could manage to make believable and casually leaned back in my chair. "Oh, I do believe I'm getting the hang of this... what do you call it? Wicked Grace? I just seem to have no luck when it comes to the cards, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it. You'll pick it up in no time."

It was so tempting to betray my secret. I would have thought that after three games one of the gamblers would have noticed the lessening silver, silver that strangely found its way to my pocket, yet through each round the winner, namely Varric, would collect his winnings without bothering to count them before the following game. It was almost too simple, though the light clink of my pocket almost aroused suspicion halfway through.

The cards, tinted grey by age and cut in corners, were stacked, shuffled and exchanged between sweaty palms and leather bracers. Ale fumes choked the air as the serving maid dropped newly filled tankards onto the centre of the table, making those that I long forgot the name to as well as my friend's mouths water and throats clench. The men all turned their intent to the serving maid whose hips swayed in time with the minstrel's mellow tune until she reached another table of drunkards to collect their drinks. That was, except for Varric, who kept his gaze fixed on his cards. After a quick glance between those on the table, most likely to make sure that everyone was distracted, he lightly brushed the imaginary dust from his coat and pulled from a pocket a distinctly new card and added it to his hand, swapping a poorer card in the process. Clever dwarf. Only before the rest of the table turned, I quickly reached out and tucked a spare silver down my sleeve. None were the wiser.

At the heavy clap of Varric's palms, the gamblers returned to the game at hand. Gazes narrowed at what they were dealt and many lips curved down in twisted scowls, knowing they had once again been beaten before the game had truly begun.

It took on a peculiar turn once an hour had passed, however. During the expanse of it, many of the other gamblers had left knowing their fortune was elsewhere. The occasional shadow cast across the floorboards was the only indication they had gone as the rest intently looked upon the game, betting on who would win the next round. Eventually, only my fellow dwarves and elvhen remained. The game was cut between both the dwarves in the end: Varric, who leaned ever so slightly forward, a gleam of sweat on his brow, and Dugan who had not ended his drinking since the game first began. His eighth tankard was nearly empty and yet the dwarf seemed to be as responsive and alert as if he was sober. Whether that was true or not, I didn't think anyone was sure of.

"Gettin' chills now, surface-dweller?" Dugan asked. "'Fraid you can't beat a stone-bearing nuggler from Orzammar, huh? Heh. Yeah. Ya know what? Let's up the bet."

Varric's eyes gleamed upon the glinting silver thrown to Dugan's growing stack and he allowed himself a slight smile. "You keep talking, Crazy. We'll just let the cards decide who's truly the winner here."

Each dwarf took a sip of their ale. It was Dugan who began to smell like the honeyed flavour amid the rest of his unique and quite disturbing odours.

"You dwarves truly enjoy your ale, I see," I said, slightly amused. "I'm not sure how you're still awake, Dugan. Surely after so much you would be under the table unconscious."

Dugan coughed up his drink, only to burst out in a roar of laughter and slap a heavy gauntleted fist against the table, almost splinting the wood. "Hah! You should visit Orzammar ya'self, long-ear. The taverns are where it's all at. The ale, oh the ale, and women... and ale... hmm... heh."

At the dwarf's hazy gaze, I rose from my chair and lightly touched his shoulder. "Dugan? Are you...?"

"Met this one guy in this place once," he muttered, sank back in his seat and took another swig of his ale. Juice tickled his beard and yet it merely sent his nose wriggling. "Completely mad he was. Spoke for hours about nothin'. But he had a _giant_ beard. Now I've seen beards a plenty in my time, I mean Orzammar's the haven for beards. Just look at mine." His plump lips slipped over crooked yellow teeth in a devilish grin. A hand caught in the thick nest of his facial hair and, stifling a snort, he threw the other over his barrelled belly and chuckled to himself in a way that promised a worthwhile story that needed to be told. "Even some of the women have beards. But there was this one guy, real drinker, with a beard like a blooming cherry. It was that pink- or was it red? Reminded me of a raspberry a lil' in colour. And he was the best drinker of 'em all. Even said to have become one of those Grey Warden types when he left. What was his name? Ogre... Ogreee... Oggle... Ogleren? No. Oghren! That's the name. Beautiful beard. If Orzammar was crowned for its beards instead of houses and castes, he'd be crowned champion of all beards. What a world it'd be. He stunk of piss, though, and some of his ale tasted like piss..." His face suddenly sobered. "No. By the Stone, no!"

Under a brilliant string of curses and swears, particularly ones that barely made any sense, Dugan lurched to his feet, flinging his chair back in the process and drained his drink dry. Once every drop was drunk, he tightened his grip on the iron and through it back. The tankard swept over the banister and crashed into the wall with a hollow clang, sending a spray of ale over both the wall and those on the first floor of the tavern. I flinched at a loud shout beneath the stairway. Below the banister, an elderly man with a face veiled in whiskers angrily rubbed the back of his head. In his hand was Dugan's tankard.

Knowing what had to be done, Jaras simply stretched, thrust his toned arms over his head and then grabbed the dwarf by the waist, hauling him back even when his arms flailed about. Upon Dugan's increased fidgeting at being dragged against his will, Jaras grunted. "That's enough out of you for one night, lad."

"Piss ale. I drunk piss ale! Oh Stone, no!"

Halfway up the tavern's stairway, Jaras dropped Dugan and hastily wiped the side of his face with a torn sleeve. "Oh, lad, don't spit!"

"That's what he said to me once, long-ear," Dugan said and was once again carried. "I always wondered why the ale looked so bad. When I get my axe around that bloody bearded neck of his-"

Dugan's words died at the slam of the tavern's door, leaving Varric and I sat at the card table unsure of what just happened. But then my hand flew to my mouth and I erupted into a laughter that threatened to send me tumbling to the floor. Varric quickly joined in and raised his glass.

"To Wicked Grace." The dwarf smirked and downed his drink.

I too raised my glass, smiled and took a small sip of the wine and water. The taste was both sweet and bitter on the tongue, a pleasant taste compared to the other drinks. "To Wicked Grace. A game that's outcomes are unbound, unexpected and lead to some memorable moments."

"You think that's something." Varric brought his arm down, the tankard still in hand, and fell back in his seat. His already widely cut shirt parted even more, displaying more of the chest hair he was already infamous for. I cut my gaze from it before he noticed, though I found it lingered there every time the dwarf looked away, either at a passing drunkard or to see if the serving maid had returned with fresh drinks. "Did I ever tell you about the time Hawke was on a merchant guild's hit list? Isabella, a pirate in Kirkwall, got into a bad situation with a guild of mercenaries. They had something that belonged to her ship that crashed along the Wounded Coast. Let's just say that it isn't in Isabella's nature to give things away lightly, especially when it involves her ship. Now, this is where it gets interesting. Hawke, Isabella and I were in the Hanged Man when the Guild tracked us down. They sent guys from the local Carta to apprehend Isabella. Three big brutes, armed to the teeth. They're about to attack when Hawke stands up, yells, "About time you guys showed up!" and invites them to a game of Wicked Grace, even offering to pay for their drinks. They played three hands of cards before the Carta left as bare as the day they were born. They haven't bothered Isabella since."

I hadn't realised it at the time, but my arms had found their way over the table's edge, willing the dwarf to continue his tale. In realisation that it had ended, I pulled back. "It's at moments like this that I'm envious of your adventures."

"Trust me it gets a little old after a couple of years." Varric smiled. "Besides, I bet you have your own share of stories. Why not tell one of yours next time?"

"I might take you up on your offer, Master Tethras."

"Master Tethras, is it? I think the drink's going to your head."

At the slight tingle in my fingers and swayed vision, I could only nod. "I am a little light headed."

At the steady tune of the minstrel's song from below the floorboards, Varric began to collect the spare playing cards and shuffle them back into his deck. However, before he managed to collect them all, I glanced down at Dugan's previous hand and gestured for Varric to take a gander.

It seemed that the old dwarf knew what he was doing after all.

"I'll be damned." Varric shook of his head in disbelief. "Crazy would've beaten me. Even after I-" He coughed into his hand and quickly swept the cards from the table.

Already knowing what the dwarf meant, I couldn't help but reply, "Even after you cheated, you mean?"

The dwarf's fingers twitched against the deck. He didn't look up. "Saw that, did you? You must have keen eyes, but-" he smirked, "I wasn't the only one playing fools."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Varric."

"Yes, as I'm sure that weighted pocket of yours miraculously gained coin from out of thin air."

"It was a gift from the Gods," I gasped, mockingly placed a hand over my heart and turned my head away. "Fate favoured my losing hand, but Dirthamen rewarded my loss with a silver boon. Must I part with it?"

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "And Andraste herself graced me with a winning card that just happened to be missing from the deck. Being the fair and honourable man that I am, I just had to put it back when no one was looking. Strange how fate does these sorts of things to us isn't it, Stranger?"

I could only agree. At the thought of the nickname, I asked, "Varric? Why do you call me Stranger?"

"Because out of everyone I've had the luxury of knowing, you're the most normal," he said casually and slipped the deck of cards into his coat pocket. He found his seat and sat with his back to the wall, looking out over the tavern and sipping his ale. "Look, don't think too much of it. I give them to everyone. Would you rather I call you Twinkle-Fingers?"

"And here I thought you were going to call me something unique like Buttercup or Princess. You know what, I do prefer Stranger. It has a certain mystery to it."

"See? Better leaving the nicknames to me. I have a gift for it."

"You could say that."

A passing torch from one of the Inquisition's guards brought a pale light through the brown-glass windows low in the tavern's walls. It was then that the noise of the patrons became unruly and they began to make their way to the above floors. It would not be long before the tavern would be bursting with life full of eager coin to spend. "It's late. Can you tell Jaras that I'll be back later? I need to get some fresh air. There's only so long I can stay in a crowded tavern before things get interesting."

"And they're not already? But it's no trouble."

I smiled and turned to round the banister. Before the sight of the dwarf completely disappeared behind it, I gave him a small wave. "Night, Varric."

He raised his tankard in farewell. "Night, Stranger."

The last of the songs drifted from the tavern's hall, seeping out into the night. Far above Skyhold's walls, a column of torches belonging to Inquisition guardsmen flickered against the veiled black of the Frostback Mountains, while similar torches lit the vacant roads, taming the darkness for the night.

It had been relatively simple returning to Skyhold after our departure from the Emerald Graves five nights previous. It was midnight by the time we returned but with the Inquisition's spy uniform still wrapped around my person, it was simple to sneak back in without notice. Of course once I was inside it was not long before the Inquisitor came down from his high horse like a raging storm, demanding why I took off with three of the Inquisition's most valued members and why one of them had not returned with us. Thankfully, the honey-tongued story teller, Varric, managed to calm him down, stating that it was their choice to come with me and that I did not force them into it. He managed to persuade the Inquisitor into believing that the journey was in fact worth the risk and the Inquisitor wisely left the matter at that, though he did warn that the next time we thought on wandering from the Keep, we would need to give his spymaster a notice. The way he said it, or rather yelled it, was more of a threat than a statement, however, demanding it to never happen again.

I glimpsed back at the stables, slightly unnerved at the chaotic ruckus that came from its walls. Men were pulling reins and tangled ropes in an attempt to coral another one of the Inquisition's exotic mounts, one that seemed to have come from a distant desert in Orlais. At the sharp cry, thundering stable doors, scaly hide and sharp tail whipping the air, it must have been a monster of a beast, one with a severely poor temper. So long as it did not escape, I did not mind such a thing. I might have even spoke to the horse master, a human man named Dennet, in the morning about the beast. Knowing his preference in mounts, he would be more than willing to cast his thoughts on the creature.

My wanderings led me towards the Inquisition's Keep, hoping to return to the Vault Library and find a tome not yet read. By the time I reached the Keep's stairway, the noises of both the tavern and stable had faded to a quiet echo of laughter and rattle of wood. I glimpsed down to the courtyard, only to pause in my steps and then descend back down the stairs. My fingers grazed over the cool stone of the walled barrier as I looked over the small valley to get a better look.

There, passing silently through the drawbridge's inner gateway, movements slow and unrushed but somehow maintaining that dignified persona, was an apostate I hadn't expected to return to Skyhold, cast in his usual white tunic and green robe, bright against the moonlight and swaying through the evening air with the almost same grace as the elvhen of old.

His expression was unreadable beneath a composed mask, but his stance conveyed purpose, intent and also loss.

Unsure of whether to return to the Keep, wait for the apostate to draw up the courtyard's many steps to greet him or to return to the tavern, I stood at an impasse. It was not long before the echo of his feet against the stone met my ears.

"You've returned," I said at last. "I did not think you would in consideration of what happened."

"Neither was I for a short time. It would be a lie if I said I hadn't thought on it. You were a true friend and did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now." There was a lack of emotion there - locked behind closed doors from the waking world. So that was how he dealt with grief. If only my own grief had been so composed when I first woke to the new world.

But I did not want him to be composed. I wanted a reaction to show he truly felt something, to trust that it wasn't a risk to show a care for something other than minor matters. "How are you feeling?"

And there it was: the break in his composure. It was only small - a slight downward curve of his brow, a sad glint in his eye. But it was enough. "It hurts, but it always does, as I'm sure you know. The pain will fade with time."

"Have you lost someone before?"

"One would be blessed to not have lost someone in their life, Da'len. We have all lost someone dear to us. The pain of losing them never gets any easier, but we must endure."

Indeed. I knew that pain all too well. My family. My people. My life. I remembered back to when I first learned of my people's loss. I remembered the time when Keeper Athrion had to console me because I couldn't believe what he said to be true. It was a pain that so quickly led to loneliness and loss of hope.

I shook the memory from my mind. "Where did you go?"

"I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade were my friend used to be." His gaze met Skyhold's walls, dark and foreboding in the night. "It's empty. But there are stirrings in the energies of the Void. Someday something new might grow there."

"Does that mean your friend might come back?" I asked in slight hope.

"No. Though the energy of spirits upon death returns to the Fade, a spirit's natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality and for another spirit of wisdom to grow, it is even rarer. There is a chance that if the idea giving the spirit's form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, that it may someday rise again, but it might have a different personality and would not be the friend I once knew. It would likely not remember me anyway."

"I..." Words were not enough. No, words did not heal a hurting heart. There had to be something more. _But what?_ I asked myself. _What eased my heart during my pain?_ Words were a comfort but nothing more. _Intimacy, perhaps?_

Gently, with a glance to his eyes for slight permission, I reached out, only to pull back just shy of his shoulders, and then with a boost of confidence wound my arms around his back. Shoulders tensed under the embrace, though not from unease but surprise. It was only a light touch, barely heavier than a feather, and only when the tension eased did I tighten it a little more. The roughness of his shoulder's clothing brushed against my cheek. Quietly, I whispered, "If you need to talk about what happened or ever need a distraction just to forget for a while, come find me. I know you believe in not forgetting things, but perhaps for just a while, forgetting and focusing on something else might make the pain easier for you. You don't have to do this alone."

I felt the soft brush of a hand on the small of my back. A trembling breath tickled the shell of my ear. "It's been so long since I could trust anyone."

"I know. It's the same for me too."

"I'll work on it," he said and pulled back. When I looked up, I saw a faint smile: genuine and honest. "Thank you for what you've done."

I smiled in return, unable not to, and allowed our arms to drift apart. "I'll be in the Vault Library if you need me. Have a good night, Solas."

I bowed the elvhen goodnight, ready to go where I initially intended when his warm hand closed around my elbow in a gentle hold.

"Wait. I would like a word."

My head tilted to the side. I glanced down at our entangled arms, confused. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing is wrong." The light of the Keep seemed to have caught his interest. "Please, come with me."

Still unsure of what he intended yet also slightly curious, I allowed him to be my guide. I followed his quiet steps up to and through the Keep's dormant throne hall, a hall that was vast and echoing in the night with the light smell of burned oak that followed us into his study.

Despite his recent absence, candlelight still burned within the tall room and papers had been left scattered across his table as if he had never left. By the time we had reached the middle of the room, Solas had lapsed into an almost brooding silence, as if he had forgotten I was there, or was so lost in thought that he truly forgot about me.

It was then that he gestured to the wrinkled covers of a broad couch and, though reluctant, I sat against its edge. "What is this, Solas?"

"I was hoping to talk to you somewhere more... private," he said and turned back to his table. "Here should be an adequate place for what I have in mind. No one should disturb us."

"I'm sorry?" And it was then that I realised what he meant, mainly by the slight wolfish curve in his lip, and could not help but feel a little excited by the prospect of revisiting the Fade. Of course, I did not show it.

...

The Fade dawned clear and bright. Above, shadowing the sharp rays of sunlight were the speckled ruby leaves of a maple tree, interwoven and whispering in the morning's gentle breeze with a crispness that hinted the beginning of autumn. A pale sky lay behind it with a near enough sun to make any who looked upon it for too long blind.

At the touching softness of crinkled leaves beneath me and at the light burn of the sun, I turned on my side to look upon my surroundings. Only what I found myself in was a place entirely new and unexpected.

A forest, but a forest I did not know, or had never seen. I lay in a small clearing that was walled off by the forest's many oaks, vines and roots, and yet inside its walls, particularly in its corners, stood the familiar likeness of elvhen architecture. It must have once been a temple, a place of beauty, I was sure, but though little more than a ruin with sections of stone wall, jagged and loose, remained, mosaics and paintings that should have been long lost to time had survived. Statues of an elvhen archer stood along a winding pathway while the light flicker of fire danced along newly formed torches.

In a corner were the stonework was still stable lay an ornamental pool of crystal water, glistening in an aura of old magic and daylight. The tiles around were coloured in azure, emerald, gold, violet and crimson, with clear gems carved into divine shapes. But the tiles themselves were cracked with age. Long, tall bronze mirrors of what I presumed were once eluvians also peeked out of the walls, but the once pure, silver glass had long been broken with shattered shards upon the ground. The magic within them lost. Neither the less, it did not make it any less impressive.

A bedroll had been set beside the pool with tomes scattered around and the charcoal remains of a once lit fire, as if some imitation of a campsite. And yet stood behind it studying one of the scriptures on the walls was Solas, hands cupped behind his back, baring pride.

Most of the leaves fell away upon rising from beneath the tree, though some clung to my shoulders, and even in my hair, making it appear as if I was part of the tree itself. It was only when my feet caught the path, muffled by the stone, and followed it through the statues to the end of the glade that Solas turned from the wall dawning a far too familiar smile.

"Da'len," he said.

"This place," I began, unable to hide the tinge of awe in my tone. "I've never seen it before. Where are we?"

"A place I come to at times when I need to think." He observed the dream before him, but frowned a little at it as if it was one of his near complete murals that needed the most basic touches to be fully perfect. Once the dream was to his liking, he returned his gaze to me. His pride for the place was unmistakeable. "I came across it once in my travels and was never able to part from it. It has a subtle beauty to it that is untouched by the spoils of this world. But I did not bring you hear to lecture you on this place's history."

"A shame," I whispered. "I would have liked to hear more."

"As I'm sure you would." It was then that he became thoughtful with his gaze narrowed at the specked cedar branches and tall reeds beneath his feet. "I have been meaning to ask, what were you like, before your power? Before you woke from your slumber?"

"Different."

"In what way?"

"I was... naive back then." There was a light wavelet in the glassy pool, one that reflected my face and with it the white vallaslin - the slave markings that belonged to Dirthamen. Gentle fingers unconsciously traced the outline of it, from the light crown on the forehead, to the slashes along the cheeks and symbols below my lower lip. It was strange. I could almost feel the sting beneath the ink, as if the markings were being redrawn into my skin, reassuring that it would never fade. "Believed things that would seem ridiculously foolish now, but I was young then. I hadn't grasped onto the hardships of the world." A faint spell sent the water rippling and the reflection adrift. The water soon returned to its faceless surface, reflecting only the sky and clouds above. "Now I'm more cautious around people and for good reason."

Noticing the change in me, Solas' next question was more uncertain, as if he was at an impasse on whether to say it or not. "Did becoming a slave change you?"

I swallowed thickly. "Straight with the difficult questions, I see." I tried to hide the weight such a question held by walking from the pool to the maple tree and by staring into its leaves in the hope they would prove a distraction. "To answer your question, yes, it did change me. More than I care to admit. It was a difficult time, most of which I regret, but in the end it made me wiser. I would not be the person I am today without going through what I had."

"Ah." He looked away, disappointed.

"That was not the answer you wanted, was it?"

"No, it was. I suppose it was."

"But-?" I took a cautious step forward, closing our distance.

Solas took notice of my cautious steps, yet made no gesture to prevent them. Instead, his eyes lit upon our closeness, longing for answers to questions that must have plagued his mind for some time. "Has your power changed you?" he asked carefully. "Affected you in any way? Your mind? Your morals? Your... spirit?"

Unsure of what he meant, I merely shook my head. "Not that I know of. Was that supposed to happen?"

"No. At least, I do not think so."

I regarded him for a moment and noticed that he expected something else from the answer, something more. "If it had really changed me, I suppose I would not notice unless someone told me. Jaras would have been the first to say something. But there's also the Dalish. They helped with my understanding of this new world, even though the choices I made were my own."

"Yes," he said. "You are wise to give yourself that due. Even if the Dalish, in their fashion, guided you. But if the Dalish have guided someone with a spirit like yours, have I misjudged them?"

"Not all the Dalish guided me. A few did, but most believed me to be an outsider. They didn't understand who I was and some saw me as a threat, even when I spent three years living among them. I suppose you misjudged a few, but others I'm not sure of."

"Perhaps that's it. I suppose it must be."

"I'm not sure I understand what this is about, Solas," I said to him, and watched him closely. His newfound silence resonated through the Fade and yet, as he thought, a pale mist shrouded the forest's floor in an eerie white and bound our legs in its cold.

The secrets in his eyes moved and shifted like candlelight, but took no recognisable form. His mouth thinned, not with anger, but with something less familiar. It seemed to be frustration, perhaps even confusion. He said at last, "You show a wisdom I have not seen since... since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected, even knowing the time you come from."

He paced the glade, arms laced behind. The mist whisked past his muffled footfalls and drifted aimlessly at every swift flick of his robes. "I've been trying to understand you, but it's trying at times. Every time I think I have figured you out, you surprise me anew. Your company is more than welcoming and I enjoy our discussions. You have a fascination for the Fade that I cannot explain. You helped me with my friend, even though I doubted you. I thought perhaps the sight of the creature those ignorant mages turned my friend into would turn you against me, only it didn't. You helped, even when our chances were slim. I..." He stopped under the gnarled branches of the maple tree and walked back, ducking under a low-hanging tree limb with a face as unreadable as stone. His stare was intent and searching, as if the answers to his ponderings lay in my appearance, only he must not have found what he wanted, as his eyes quickly narrowed and he caught his brow in a tired hand. "You change everything."

That took me by surprise. _I changed everything?_ That must have meant more than the simple words, surely. There must have been more meaning behind it. But, knowing he sought a reply, I licked abruptly dried lips and meekly uttered, "I do?"

"Surely you have noticed."

"Not as you have."

He sighed heavily. "It's difficult not to." It was then that I realised what such a statement meant, and it seemed he did to. There was a strange sense of pleasure from seeing a look of genuine surprise on his face. "By that I meant-"

"That was a lot of complimenting, Solas," I said, my voice low. Knowing the drink had something to do with my sudden act of courage, I stepped forward and felt the light caress of the elvhen's warm breath upon my cheek.

"I-" His long lashes touched the surface of his cheekbones in a dared glance at my lips.

Bodies just shy of each other's touch. We were close, yet at our closeness, his eyes, pale blue against the sunlight, reflected a sadness I didn't quite understand and in reason of that, he turned his face away.

My fingers lightly reached up to trace the base his jaw, only to end at his sharp chin and tip it back to me. Before any words passed, I brushed my lips against his. It was only light without showing the passion or nerves that curled knots into my chest. But there was a lack of response. A chill of dread stabbed my rapidly pounding heart and our lips parted instantly.

I stared down at the grass beneath us, willing the sting of rejection to fade, knowing he did not feel the same for me. But then I dared a glance upward, and stilled at the quirk of his mouth's corner and the slow shake of his head. Solas leaned forward and reclaimed my lips so fast that breath was drawn away in a startled gasp. His unexpected touch stunned me, unable to flinch or react, yet when his warm arms wound around to catch the small of my back, his nimble fingers tugging and pulling at the fabric, only to bring me closer in his embrace, I found an immense sense of safety and warmth that was too inviting. Pine, earth and century old tomes overtook my senses, easing the tension from my shoulders. It was a slightly unsure yet willing collision of touches, and my hands grasped the fabric of his elbows to keep him near, to convince myself that it was real.

Gentle caresses had become lighter and softer as time passed until the touches ceased altogether. Solas pulled back in a light shake of his head. "No," he whispered with breath as heavy as mine, yet his hold on my waist remained firm. "We shouldn't. It's not right. Not even here."

"You don't...?" I quickly flinched from his hold. The warmth there rapidly turned from comforting to a sharp burn. "I-Ir abelas. I thought that you felt the same. I was wrong. Terribly wrong. And foolish. I-I've been drinking and I'm not sure what I'm doing-"

"No. No, it isn't that." His face contorted with fail words until he freed himself from me and turned to face the forest around us. It was then that he said, "Did you say drinking?"

I could practically feel the light heat rise in my cheeks and tried ashamedly to cover them. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to kiss you, unless you didn't want to do that, then I'm blaming the drink completely. Did... you want to... do that?"

"It would be a lie to say I didn't."

"Good." I let out a shaky breath. "That's good. But why did you pull away? Is this some custom I do not know of? Is it wrong to kiss someone or something? This world is truly strange."

"No, lethallan, it isn't. It's just- " he paused, considering, and then stretched his hand out, ready for me to take. "Perhaps it would be better to speak of this when you are awake."

"Awake?" It was then that the realisation of where we were dawned on me. The illusion of the Fade was so vivid that it was simple to get lost in. "The Fade."

Solas withdrew his hand, but his lips remained softly curled. "We shall speak again, lethallan, as soon as you..." A glint of mischief touched his eyes and, when he stepped back and allowed the Fade to wane into its void-like state behind him, he smirked.  
"Wake up."

...

Upon awakening, I found myself settled along the couch I had first fallen asleep in before the dream. The room remained dark with the odd shadows thrown back by the bright flickers of candlelight. The study was quiet with the whisper of feathers from sleeping crows from above. It must have been late, later than before but not early enough to hear the sweep of magi robes heading to the library.

Solas left his chair, seemingly unaware that I had awoke, and hastily touched the stray papers on his table's edge, stacking them into neat and sorted piles before taking his chin and studying the newly found artifact placed there before his return to Skyhold.

My standing must have surprised him as his gaze quickly parted from the foreign artifact and instead lingered on mine.

At the slight furrowing in my brow, he rested his arms together and spoke quiet, though his voice was still carried through the room, "Sleep well?"

"It was definitely one of the more memorable dreams I have had in a long time," I said, unable to hide my smirk.

Solas' teeth flashed in a light grin and he laughed, a light, nervous laugh. "Yes."

Even though it seemed we had dreamed the same thing, I still found myself questioning it. "That did happen, yes? I'm not imagining anything."

"No, it was real."

"Then what we did was real too?"

"I would say so."

"And you feel the same about me," I whispered and hitched a hip onto the table. "At least that is what I got from that very interesting experience. But what are you afraid of?"

He blushed a faint crimson and tried to mask it with a quick clear of his throat. "It has been a long time, and things have always been easier for me in the Fade." It was then that his expression took a serious turn and he glanced down at his papers. When he spoke, it was spoken with restraint, and it made me wonder what he was keeping back. "I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble."

"Worse trouble then what we're in right now?" I asked. "The world coming to an end by a tear in the sky and an old elvhen lord who wishes his slave back. I'd find anything worse hard to believe."

He nodded briefly. "True, but you know what I mean."

I found my gaze returning to the table as did his and I lightly tugged at the edges of my robes, wishing my worries to fade. "I'm willing to take the chance, if you are."

"I..." He fell quiet in consideration, brows connected in thought. It was only a quick consideration, however, as he slowly replied with, "May, yes. If I could take a little time to think. There are... considerations."

I grinned. "Take as long as you need. If you had not realised already, I can be a very patient person. And this... this is new to me too. But I would like to see what happens. You never know."

"As would I. Thank you. I am not often thrown by things that happen in dreams, but I am reasonably certain we are awake now." Solas gestured to the coach and passed along a tome from his collection that I had not yet read. "And if you wished to discuss anything, I would enjoy talking."

For the remainder of the night we talked about tales of our encounters, both equally interested in each others. During our talks, Solas began to speak of more practical matters, specifically on a way to channel my shard's power at will and to perhaps test it at a later date. But then we retreated to the company of reading, comfortable with each other's presence and then eventually fell into slumber. By the time I awoke the following morning, it was to find a clean but rough blanket covering me with the apostate nowhere to be seen. But there was one thing that kept gnawing at the back of my mind, something I seemed to forget.

_What happened to Jaras and Dugan?_

...

_This was so much fun to write. I've never written a proper romance scene before, at least not like this. Hope it was alright.  
Anyway, glad I was able to get this up though it's later than I planned. Thanks again to those that comment, makes my day and I love to hear what you think!  
_


	23. Not All Things Fade To Roses

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty Three: Not All Things Fade to Roses

The great hall lay in a vast shadow, lightly veiled in a mist of deep violet and pale grey that rose from the depths of the jagged stone ground, only to fade reaching the boundless ceiling. Apparitions, ethereal spectres of ancient elvhen, glided back and forth in long gowns of ghostly silk, their whispers soft with sorrow in their passing of befallen statues faced with the old God of Knowledge and Secrets.

The Temple of Dirthamen. A replica of a ruin. I was not truly there in the Brecilian Forest, nor was I in the temple itself, no matter how vivid the Fade made it seem. Instead, I was in the spiritual world, bound by sleep, and I was not in control of the dream, but someone else was.

There was a silver glint where the spectres refused to drift and a sharp cloak of black like a raven's wing that swayed agonisingly slow against the mist.

Its whisper was soft and echoing but the voice changed to sharp and refined, as slick and formal as a silver tongued merchant, once the shape gave way to its true form. Arms pasty white and scarred beneath a black mantle and crimson lace expertly sewn into the seams and cowl. Beneath the mantle lay the shimmer of body armour, silver and polished, bound by straps of sanguine samite tied to the waist and shoulders. Clutched in long, skeletal fingers was a staff, twisted and gold, with clear crystals and rubies cut into the it's spiked tendrils. The figure bore pride and power in each stride of his steady approach, only to come to a swift end a small distance away. The mantle's end whipped the mist in an arm's outward flick. The material caught the back of his shoulder. There he waited, cowl held high and a scornful bearing beneath its shadow.

"You hound my sleep for the last few months," I whispered, unable to keep my voice clear and steady. "And it is now you choose to truly show yourself? And you bring me here of all places."

Fingers curled around the edge of his staff, akin to that of a spider's limb. The bladed, silver nail of his forefinger needed the gold in sharp, long scrapes. "You have had the freedom you wished for thousands of years now, my child. Consider it a gift, despite you being reclusive. A dangerous thing you have done. But now is the time for you return to me. Too long have we been apart."

Fear bound my legs still. It took many slow breaths to manage to speak out, and even though I tried to stay stone-faced, he knew me too well to believe the facade. "I never had freedom. You kept that from me. I only woke up in this world three years ago. These thousands of years you say passed me by while I slept. I was not free."

"Free from my control, you were. Able to react to that freedom or not is not something I care for. Besides, you carry with you that which is not yours, Harellan."  
I frowned. "You mean the shard. The power it holds. I never asked for it, but it is now mine."

"Childish, meddlesome fool!" My master's sharp cheekbones took on a sanguine tinge of rage. Bony hands clutched his staff, the knuckles white, and energy sparked its spikes and crowning jewels. The mist flashed against its violet flashes. "You stole that which was never yours. Took it in your thieving fingers and fled to the furthest reaches of the world, believing the illusion that you'd thwarted me. But you forget, there is no place in this retched land you can hide where I will not find you. You are mine. My magic is etched into your very face. Your very vallaslin was engraved by my hands, by my incantations, by my magic. I thought such naive attempts at this freedom of yours ended by your first century under my supremacy. In truth, it seems that streak of insolence still runs thick in your blood, as it did your fathers."

A pang of anger touched my chest at the mention of my father. After everything he had done, disgracing my family was something I would not tolerate, lest of all from him. "Do not mention my family!"

My master blinked at the sharpness in my voice and at his quietness, I almost feared what he might do, but then a scarred lip curved up to a cheekbone and he tipped his cowl back, revealing black hair streaked white. "And it seems this mockingbird has retained her talons, only to bare them at her master." He tsked. "You may wish to watch that waggling tongue of yours lest it catch a silver blade and be cut clean off."

On impulse I clasped a hand over my mouth.

He cackled with a poison-laughter that sent his gold eyes alight. "It seems some respect still remains. Good. Though, I do believe you have lost your touch. No matter. Simple correction upon your return should all that be needed."

I felt a sudden sick sense of dread. "I'm... I'm not returning to you. I'm not yours. I was never yours and never will be."

"So you say though that has yet to be proven. Do you truly believe that a fortress of shemlen, built upon a temple of our people, a temple I had visited many-a-time, can keep you from my reach? Already one of my sentinels has managed to slip within undetected."

"A sentinel the Inquisitor killed."

"As was his intention."

I blinked. "That sentinel. You sent him as a warning."

"Indeed. For the shemlen to co-operate, something they have yet to do. But the time will come. The minds of shemlen are weak, fragile and easily manipulated things, and even if they do manage to keep you within their walls, it will not last. Fifty years. A century. I can wait. But can you?" He grinned small and seemed to not even notice the stretch of his mouth. "A gentle spirit, trapped within a cage, no matter how high its walls, or vast its grounds, even you cannot stay within such a place for eternity, my child, and when you leave, know I will be waiting, with bated breath."

The mere thought of being trapped within a place for so long sent a chill through my bones. "Why do you want me? There must be something more than escaped property. Elvhenan is gone. The empire lost. Nothing of my family's lineage remains, meaning no pride is lost from my disappearance, nor any of your power. This," I gestured to my arm, "cannot be all. If you wish it so badly then you can have it, but let me go."

My master raised his silver forefinger, silencing my words, and then leisurely tipped it from side to side. "You believe it to be that simple? That the loss of my most valued pet isn't worth such work? No. You may lack being a threat, despite all you know, but your power is so much more. I had thought the God would have told you, given the attachment you had to him, but it seems he has not."

"Dirthamen's gone," I said.

"Ah, has he?" my master asked with a twist of his mouth. "What do your instincts tell you? Your faith? Your inclination? Clearly, you have forgotten my teachings. You cannot believe that he has truly left this mundane world. There is a part of you, a minor part that must believe he will return. He and the other Gods may have left our kind to rot in the earth, but we few stand true against these parasites, these shemlen that call themselves human. For now we are the only ones carrying pieces of the God, pieces neither of us can escape, but can hone and use just as any staff or spear. It is you that is making things difficult. There is an intention, little mockingbird, a plan - a plan that involves us both, one we cannot escape so lightly and it is you who is disrupting it with your ignorance."

Knowing anything he had planned would only end badly, I stepped back from my master, raised my hands and hastily shook them. "I do not care for your plan. Whatever it is, keep me out of it." I turned to lose myself within the mist, to allow the Fade in its eeriness to swallow my body and allow me to disappear from my master's control. But as believed, the mist did not shroud me. My master controlled the dream and I was but a pawn in his trap.

"It is not my plan, for if it were, it would not involve any risk to me. No matter. We all have our part to play." My steps faltered and, though fearful, I heeded his words. "The winds of change so seldom wait for those few with sales to trap it. But," his focus shifted to my arm - the scars visible through the silk gown, "I see your power has yet to stabilize. Pity. And here I expected you to not be like the other experiments."

"Others? You mean those I brought to you? They're still alive?"

"Alive they were, but whether they are alive now, that is... debatable."

"You don't know where they are, do you?" Brows creased and lips firm. He did not know. "You need those too, don't you? Their shards are just as important as mine. Do you even know where they are?"

A scowl was his answer, scornful and wrinkled in loathing for finding out a weakness to exploit. It was a weakness that would be kept in mind.

"It matters not." My master took his staff in hand and disappeared for the briefest heartbeat, only to reappear before me, the mantle just shy of my body, and thrust his silver finger into my chest. I winced at the prick of its point; the sharp draw of breath only dug it deeper into the fabric of my gown and into my flesh. Breathes ceased being taken at the sting and all I could do was stare back at his unhindered glare that held a light of evil that rarely passed his face. "They will be mine, but yours, yours is so much more. You are the key. So you see, sweet child, I cannot leave you in the hands of the shemlen. You are too important. Return to me, or I will be forced to take you."

"The Inquisition is too large for you to take." I swallowed thickly. I tried to steady my voice, to gain courage before my next spoken words, but the unconscious hitch that came from my throat only got my master's grin to crack. "So long as I am in Skyhold, I am safe."

Light and purposeful, he brought his forefinger up to catch the skin of my cheek. The silver tip dipped in. As steady as any crafter, it carved its way in a thin, deep line down to my jaw line, were it was raised to catch my lower lip. A droplet of blood touched the silver's tip. "For now, little mockingbird. For now." My master drew back to walk the void of grey and violet. Green tinted it upon his fading presence. It hinted his leave.

The black mantle slithered and swayed until the point my master twisted back. The fabric's tail caught around his long legs. "Watch where you wander. It would be terribly ill for you to forget that I am always one step behind."

And just like that, his staff stabbed the ground and the mantle's edge snaked his body. In a smother of Fade smoke, he was gone. The dream returned to its tranquil, non-existent state of smoky grey and green light, shapeless and lacking meaningful thought to bring it to life, but the bitter taint of his magic and sharp words lingered as a vigilant shadow.

...

The dream hung heavy at the edges of my memory with the after effects of a pounding heart and tear-stained eyes. It was once the lasting remains of the Fade passed my partly fogged mind that the chamber's shadow came about and took a moment to discern, but with the moonlight brimming through the window's boards, I was able to catch the light outlines of shapes and furniture until my bedchamber, in its black, became an assortment of dark greys.

In the midst of tangled bed covers, soaked in sweat with few left to coat the floor in long drapes, I sat against the headboard, knees tucked beneath my chin; afraid to breathe, afraid to speak and afraid to move.

Against the quiet, I listened. I listened to the quiet mutters of patrons in the tavern's main hall, to the soft pad of human feet passing the stairway with low sniggers promising mischief, the sharp creaking of wood caused by those whose nights were filled with pleasure and bliss, and then to the tiny patter of rats scampering beneath the floorboards, mostly likely in search of fallen food that had managed to escape through the dusty timber's cracks.

The soft bear fur of the blanket wiped the stray tears from my cheeks and, with a heavy breath, I allowed myself to focus more on the blanket then the light steps in the chamber's corner, muffled by the coarse rug. I knew he was there. The actions of the spirit were shy and gentle. No cause for any concern. In truth, he had a habit of visiting often, but never stayed long.

Shielded from the window's moonlight he stood and his low-hung hat tipped back to reveal sad eyes beneath strands of messy hair. "You dream of him often."

It was not a question but a statement, said so straightforward that it gave me caution to worry. Cole must have heard my cries and felt my pain. There was a way he said it that made me wonder if he had felt the nightmares of previous nights, but neglected to mention them. But no nightmare had been as vivid as the one that night.

"He calls to you," he said in a voice so hushed that there was no way it could be heard from the outside, "beckoning you back to him with secrets and lies entangled like a sack of snakes. He talks to you in the dark, knowing others cannot hear, cannot see. He taunts you because he thinks it'll get you to return to him. He has always threatened you, and he knows he holds power that you fear, even with your chains cut loose."

It was worrying how the spirit could see so much with only glimpses and feeling. "It's like you read my very mind, Cole," I half-jested. His words cut deep, though. It sent me wondering, thinking and then knowing that he was right. "I... I fear him, even with my master being outside Skyhold's walls. Even with my chains gone. I suppose you never truly free yourself of something you've spent a century of your life in servitude under, knowing the person you have been made to serve is the cause of so much of your own sadness. Having to live a life dictated by someone else and having to be trained as a pawn in a game that no one truly knows the rules too. I like to think I'm free, but there's still fear there, amongst other things."

The bed sank at the spirit's perch on its edge. His hat dipped, but the caring and certain smile beneath was more comforting then his words. "You're safe here. The Inquisition can protect you."

"You make it sound so simple." I sighed. "And what of my dreams? My master was right about the shards being more connected then I realised. If he can speak to me whenever he wishes then that is just as bad as him ripping Skyhold's walls asunder."

The spirit's smile fell, showing confusion. "He can't hurt you in dreams."

My fingers curled around the blanket. "Not physically. Mentally is another matter entirely. I barely understand what my shard is and the power is also a mystery. Obviously my former master knows more than he's letting on. I don't think preventing his entry into my mind is possible."

"Maybe it is. Maybe you can stop him."

Frowning, I indulged the spirit. "And how would I do that?"

"Solas likes dreaming," Cole said. "He likes the Fade. He can find a way to help you."

"It seems that elvhen is the answer to everything, but I doubt even he can prevent my master from this. Though, I suppose it is worth a try."

The spirit gently took my hand and swung his legs over the bed. "We should go, now."

I pulled back but the spirit's hold was firm. It only brought him closer. "Now? Cole, it's late. He is bound to be asleep."

"Solas won't mind. He likes helping you."

"I'm sure he wouldn't want to be disturbed."

But it was useless to dissuade him. The spirit had already let my hand go, opened the door and eagerly pointed out. It seemed pointless to refuse him as he would likely wake Solas up and bring him to my room instead. When Cole set his mind to something, it wasn't often it was diverted to something else.

Once my robe was laced and hung loosely around my waist in a neat knot, I took into the night with the spirit boy close behind. We first walked into the keep's rotunda, yet the study was found surprisingly empty. It was then that Cole guided me through the keep, over stairs both dark and steep, up to the second floor and out onto a parapet walk that overlooked Skyhold's main garden. The parapet walk led to three posterns, noticeably old but also recently painted. One of the doors, presumably, was one to Solas' bedchamber.

I stood before the door for a time, afraid to knock. Outside, a howl of a wolf, faint and distant over the mountains did little in encouragement. Perhaps it could have waited until morning, but the prospect of sleep was unthinkable. Cole pressed my back further forward and I took courage in his presence. He would not leave me alone. He'd even open the door and speak for me if asked.

The thump was hard against the wood, a little too hard, and was loud against the lack of wind and clanking armour. I felt the spirit's hand linger on the small of my back, reassuring me, as if he knew I would turn away if the apostate did not hurry.

It was then that the door shuddered apart. As expected, Solas had come from the binds of slumber, dressed in a roughly spun tunic, with pale flesh gaping at the long neckline. "Lahris?" He yawned and pinched the bridge of his nose, removing the lingered effects of sleep. "What brings you here at this late hour?"  
"Forgive my intrusion, but I need to discuss something important."

The apostate looked passed me to the spirit, knowing something serious was afoot. He parted the door further and gestured entry with a slight stretch of his arm.

In the airy chamber, candlelight quivered against plastered walls, casting lifelike shadows that shimmered against them. The apostate's bed was nothing spectacular, merely filled with feathered pillows and covers-a-plenty, wrinkled and creased in a way that suggested a well-rested sleep. It did appear to be more comfortable than my own. The tavern really did need to be equipped with better sheets.

Solas spied his chamber's cracked window but seemed to think better on closing it and instead turned to stand before the entanglement of shelves and alchemy chests at the far end of the chamber.

It was quite surprising how many assortments of glass vials both empty and full there were as well as jars of freshly cut herbs, timber bowls of forgotten mixtures and corked phials, most labelled by Solas' own hand. He was the orderly sort it seemed. It was noted that there were a variety of herbs, some medicinal such as elf root and crystal grace, and others of the more disturbing kind, such as death root and felandaris, used for producing nothing other than poisons.

My fingers caught onto the clearest vial of pure red water. There was no label on it but from the colour, it seemed to be some sort of healing poultice. "I didn't know you did herbalism."

Noticing the interest, Solas picked the vial from my hand and turned it towards a candle. "It is a practise of mine when I find the time. Living on ones own, such practises can become useful. Are you by any chance a herbalist?" He put the vial back.

"I suppose you could say I am a novice in this field of study," I admitted, "but I know the difference between those herbs that cure and those that kill."

"That is better then not knowing at all."

Amongst the vials in the room lay a trestle table, positioned below the window and filled with many strange artifacts that hummed with foreign magic. Their surfaces were etched in intricacy. I tried to get a better look at them, but Solas stepped out to prevent it and ushered me to a vacant seat.

Once seated, he leaned over the edge of his chair and cupped his hands together. "I assume you came here for a reason. What seems to be troubling you?"

"I need to learn to channel the shard's power as quickly as possible," I said. "Tonight, perhaps. It can be done in that amount of time, yes?"

"Channelling magic requires time and practise and a great level of skill. We have also seen the effects this power has on your body. It would be wiser to do it at a slow pace as to not to rush things and provoke injury."

I briefly put my head in my hands. "By Dirthamen, I don't have that much time."

A frown tugged at his features. "There is more. This behaviour is unlike you."

I let out a heavy sigh and sank back into the chair. "I had a nightmare."

"A nightmare?"

"It was worse than my usual nightmares. In fact, it was not so much a nightmare as it was a conversation between my former master and I. He was able to get inside my mind and speak to me. He's gotten stronger. He said we were more connected before-"

Solas raised a hand, hushing me. "Before? This has happened more than once?"

"He has always whispered lies into my ear at night," I said. "His presence has always been there, even before the shard. But as you know it is difficult for me to consciously control the Fade. You have helped me. Something about what we've done must have awoken something between my master and I. Perhaps it made our connection stronger. The first time you took me into the Fade was when I felt his presence. He spoke to me. Said we were more connected than I thought. Look, all the shards that he had were linked, and I think he's able to use that link to torment me. If I am able to control the shard more, then perhaps-"

"You could sever the link. I see."

"Or maybe I can gain enough understanding to prevent him from my mind. It's only through dreams that he can speak to me and though he cannot harm me through them, to hear his voice, so close like he's beside me is frightening. I'm afraid to sleep knowing he's only a thought away. You have to help me. I don't know where else to turn."

Solas was silent for several moments. His face had grown tight when he listened and his gaze shifted to Cole who resembled the same seriousness. It was then that he took on a look that could only have meant a decision and pushed himself off his chair to walk to the chest beneath his bed. "Allow me to gather my things and I will meet you out in the garden."

I rose fleetly from the seat and motioned for Cole to follow to the door. "Ma serannas, falon."

Once the door closed behind, my hopes rose at the chance of the apostate's help and, slowly, Cole and I made our way to the garden below.

The moon had risen past the mountains, yet the fortress remained asleep and unstirred. It was quieter in the garden with the light wind disturbing the Inquisition banners as well as patches of freely grown grass, thistles and undergrowth free of stone flags, but guardsmen still walked the walls carrying torches like flickering fireflies against the night, and knights occasionally passed the garden baring uncomfortable stares behind iron helmets.

Solas appeared from beneath the bailey's shadow, clothed as if he was going on some great journey. At first, it worried me to see him in the dark due to the difficulty of recognising him, but once the moonlight hit the pale skin and pointed ears, the nerves eased. Instead of greeting us, Solas walked past us, headed through an archway and along a paved path to a stone pavilion, built beside one of Skyhold's many wells.

Strangely, the apostate knelt before its floor and began to pick out the loose layer of bricks with his hands, only to later place them beside his feet. One by one, the stones were taken out and by the time six had been removed, the outline of a trap door took shape. He grasped the brass knocker and tugged it back, revealing a dark passage with a half-rotten ladder leading down.

"There is a grove not far out of Skyhold," he said once the last brick was laid flat.

At a glance at the trap door, I raised an eyebrow. "And this is just lying here with no one else knowing about it. And here I thought the Inquisition knew everything about this place."

"Not everything, Da'len. There are secrets to this place that I... neglected to mention to them. No need for them to know everything, as I'm sure you would understand." Solas lightly held out his hand. "Please, follow me."

I reached out to take it, but then pulled back. "And no one will notice this laying around the pavilion?"

"Not once Cole has sealed it."

"And when we need to come back through?"

"Then I will open it," said Cole with an innocent, almost childish smile.

"There is nothing to worry about," Solas said reassuringly. His hand remained open. "Are you coming, lethallan?"

I wasn't sure what insane impulse got me to take his hand and place my feet on the ladder. It must have either been sleep deprivation, curiosity or simply the need to get outside Skyhold's walls, knowing the chance to do so again might have been a while if my old master had his way.

The bright shaft of light from above narrowed once Cole began to restrict the gap. The darkness at the bottom of the tunnel grew at the trap door's seemingly unending creak until it let out a final shriek and the ceiling's corners spat dust. Breathes came out heavy and echoed off ancient rock. The walls were thick with slime and wood cracked and satchels clanked as knees bent and arms pressed the ladder down, until feet met stable ground and water splashed so loudly that the under-crofts of Skyhold were sure to hear.

At the bottom we stood, immersed in a vast shade, and the knee-deep water smoothed beneath our still feet. My backhand tipped my nose downward. The foul smelling water seemed to only worsen.

In a turn of my hand, a vague glow flickered white against the black. Solas cast a similar spell, one that sent a wisp of pasty green gliding through the tunnel and circling his body.

"How long has this place been down here?" I asked him.

Wavelets skimmed the shallow pool's murky surface to reach out into spaces further ahead and in doing so, caused the lights reflected upon the ceiling to shiver in vibrant waves. When we began to delve through the passage, our strides sent more disturbances through the water and I found myself silently cursing at the lack of clothing I had foolishly chosen to wear. The fine fabric of my gown held barely any resistance against the water and soaked it up like a dry rag, tainting its once light grey ends to a mossy brown.

"You remember reading about Skyhold's history?" Solas asked. "That this place held many inhabitants after our people abandoned it? One of those inhabitants built tunnels such as this leading through many parts of the mountain. Sadly, over the centuries, many have become subject to ruin and cave-ins. Only few remain as intact as this one."

"And you just happened upon this in a dream?"

"Skyhold holds many events and has been subject to much. It is surprising that you have not noticed."

I found myself looking down at the pool. Black water curled around each slow step. "I have not had the chance to try and dream like you do. The nightmares, they've been plaguing me for a while now and even before them, it was difficult to try and manipulate the Fade with the same control you have. I can try, but I find myself returning to sleep and my mind wanders. I was never good at this type of magic."

Solas watched me closely. "Do not give up. The will of magic is in your blood. You said it yourself that you had three dreamers within your bloodline, so it should come naturally. Magic has a way of surprising you. Of course, if it continues to cause difficulty, you know where I am."

"That I do."

Ahead, the path rounded off to another passage, one that's door was little more than leech and moss-ridden grey wood splinters held up by a long rusted hinge.

The eroded bodies of knightly statues inclined on partly shattered pedestals, leering over our forms with cracked curled lips and worn glares beneath stone helmets crowned with a gold tablet - the writing all but lost. By the emblem engraved onto their shields, they were crafted by early humans, most likely the first humans to have settled upon the mountain. The sculptures themselves must have been at least eight to nine centuries old. To think, the passage had withstood the elements of time for so many years, it was unsurprising the other tunnels had collapsed.

"I have a question to ask you," I said to the apostate. "You asked if I believed in our Gods and I never gave you an answer. I have to ask, why do you not believe in the Gods?"

Solas looked back with piqued curiosity. "It's not that I don't believe in them. I don't believe they were Gods, no, but I believe they existed. Something existed to start the legends after all. If not Gods, then mages, or spirits, or something I have never seen."

"Interesting."

He turned. Against his spell, his eyes burned with a like imitation of veilfire. "And what is your answer?"

"They were real and now they're gone. Simple as that."

The blaze of his gaze seemed brighter at that, but the dark lines of his brows gently creased. "You do not believe in the Dalish legend, then? That it was Fen'Harel who tricked the elvhen Gods and sealed them away in the Beyond?"

"The God of rebellion?" I paused mid-step and followed Solas through another doorway, one with its door long gone but bronze frame intact. "To be honest, I'm not sure. It could be true. I doubt he did it because he was purely evil. The Dalish make him out to be a monster, some savage beast that cannot be tamed and wished solely for the downfall of the elvhen. Even though I never truly cared for the Dread Wolf or some of the other Gods, I doubt he would purposely end the elvhen unless we did something truly foolish. The Gods, or at least some of them, cared for us. They may have fought and created wars but in the end, even their desires had to be put on hold for the benefit of the people, for without the people, they'd have no power and no one to lord over. If anything, Gods love power and worship. They had to heed the people sometimes or else we'd have turned our backs on them long ago."

"And what if the Dalish legends are true?" he asked.

"Then the Dread Wolf better have a good explanation. The old ways are gone and from what little I know, I'm assuming it's because the Gods vanished before the time came when we needed them. Many relied on them. Our entire culture depended on them. With them gone, I cannot fathom what would have happened. Chaos, perhaps? The feeling of betrayal? Did we cause the fall of ourselves because of their absence with no one to rule over us, or was it the humans? Who can say."

"Do you miss them? The Gods?"

I tugged uncomfortably at my gown. "I miss many things. Truthfully, it was wise to be afraid of the Gods. I am afraid of the Gods even though I do respect them. There was only one God I truly cared about, one that I didn't fear, and he is gone. I just hope it wasn't a painful passing, wherever he is."

"Dirthamen?"

"Yes." Through the glow cast across the apostate's sharp features, I caught the thought there, the confusion and I had to wonder: "And what about you? Do you believe the Dread Wolf did all that?"

Solas looked away. "I believe that things are not always black and white, whatever the truth." Not many could have spoken such wisdom. It made me wonder if his spirit friend had once told him that before she passed.

As if in answer, a sigh of wind entered the tunnel. It ghosted my skin, causing hairs to prick and the complexion to pale, and for my breath to cloud in the damp air. "How much farther do we need to walk?" I pulled my arms close to try and steady their tremble.

Solas ceased walking and asked, "Are you cold?"

Knowing it did not matter, I shook my head. "Not truly."

"Here. Hold this a moment." Solas passed his pack over and once the leather straps were in my grasp, he unclipped his belt, freed himself of his cloak and gathered it up so its trails kept from the water.

I flushed beneath the darkness - my spell flickered as my hands waved in a light refusal. "No, Solas, that's not necessary. I'm comfortable with the cold. Being frozen in a block of ice does that to you."

"Nonetheless, the last we need is for you to fall ill." The weight of the fur cloak rested heavily over my shoulders and though it did little to calm the cold brought from the water, it warmed my chest.

When his arms dropped, I tugged the cloak closer and held it at the scruff. "Ill?"

"Yes, ill. You have experienced illness before, have you not?"

"Once with the Dalish." My lips curled at the memory - warm and cold flushes, always coated in sweat and unable to breathe without coughing what little breath I was able to draw in. "It was not a pleasant experience. But the people in my time did not experience these illnesses."

"Most likely because your people were immortal." He slung his pack across his back and pressed on through the tunnel. He was skinnier without his cloak, but the contours of a lean back and toned muscle could be seen beneath the thin tunic, especially through each stride.

"That could be the reason," I said quietly.

"I'm afraid times are different." He looked back. I snapped my gaze to the water. "You must be careful."

The sound of my scoff was carried across the water. "I'm always careful."

Solas lightly shook his head. "Why do I find that hard to believe?" his words echoed back, but there was a hint of humour there that was hard to miss.

The rest of the passage lay serpentine with many sharp corners that's water receded through each passed doorway. Eventually, like a new dawn, a soft light set the end of the passage aglow and separated the dark from the grime-stricken walls. Ferns and conifer leaves layered both sides of the end and brushed out into a skin of thin white snow, crisp and light against a half-moon's radiance.

At the first touch of the outside, I took in a deep breath of the chilled air, enjoying the way it filled my lungs. The fur coat flared in the breeze and I jerked it tight - a wall to keep the warmth in. It seemed the apostate was correct about the passage after all.

Jagged peaks and black stone cliffs protected the glade against the mountain's elements, their crowns tapped with ice and snow that shone palely in the moonlight. I watched as crows circled the partly clouded sky, with the evening stars just peeking through the rifts.

To think that a glade such as that existed at all within the mountains was surprising but as Solas led me to a dryer area were the soft stalks of grass poked my boots, I felt the presence of spells woven into the glade - ancient and forgotten. It felt like it was made to protect the glade from the weathers of time. It was magic that held a familiar sense to it that made my chest tingle.

Solas extended a broad hand in a slowing gesture to the grassland. There he said, "Sit."

With my knees folded beneath each other over mounds of green grass, I quietly observed the apostate kneel to rest opposite me, his legs curled in and hands folded in his lap. There he sat in silent watch, prepared for whatever purpose he had in bringing us to the glade.

Specks of frost drifted apart like feathers fallen from a bird's wing. A few white flecks caught the tips of Solas' ears, and the cold only brought upon his cheeks a faint rose tint that made it seem as if he had drank too many cups of honeyed wine.

"Are you sure you wish to do this, Da'len?" He looked at me trustingly in wait for an answer.

Any flicker of nerves was forced down with a deep breath. I glanced down at my palms, the skin pale against the snow even though the cold was barely felt anymore, and curled the fingers in. "Do what you have to."

He nodded. "Just look at me a moment, Da'len. Hold a moment. Good. Now look past me and relax." Solas' hand lifted to lightly cover my face in a feather-like touch, barely ghosting my brow. At the slow lowering of fingers and wrist, my eyes followed until they closed completely. My other senses quickly became sensitive to the lack of sight and my ears twitched at the slightest rustle of branches, moan of wind and crunching of snow, likely from the wild fennecs that roamed the mountain peaks. A deep concern welled within my chest, only to tighten in knots. No matter how much I tried, the survival instinct within me refused to allow my guard to slip for more than a mere heartbeat, even if I was in the company of someone I could learn to trust - did trust, to an extent.

The apostate's quiet murmur brought me out of my thoughts. "Allow your mind to wander. Know that you are safe here and allow the tension you feel to disappear in each long, steady breath." After a time when the tension eased from me, Solas spoke again. "Now, tell me. What did you first feel when you felt your former master's presence? You mentioned a time ago that you felt a burn with your power. Do you have the same sensation when you have an experience with him or is it different?"

"Different," I said.

"How so?"

"There is no burn. It's never a burn, but there's something. It's not got a feeling, but more of... a texture, a colour. Silver. There's always silver. And the smell of iron."

Even without sight, Solas' thoughtful sideward glance could be imagined. "I want you to focus on that feeling. Try to find that flash of silver in your mind. Follow the trail of iron. Do not resist. Go to the place where it lives and tell me what you see."

Compliant to his words, I tried to focus past the blackness and imagined myself walking through a dense murk, the flash of silver first faint and barely lingered, but soon swelled and rose in depth. Solas' next words softened upon it and the torch of a smouldering star bid me to follow. Thrice it disappeared and reappeared, yet I kept straight on it, unwilling for it to vanish completely, and on the quicker approach, the smell of iron took over any other sense. The smouldering star glimmered brightly but the more I walked, the difficult it became to draw close. One, two, and three steps forward felt the most painful, but after an uncountable amount more, the unseen force preventing me fell away - the restraints cut loose.

"Tell me what you see," Solas voice seeped through, loud as well as clear that time.

The smouldering star hovered gracefully in the air, as bright and warm as any sun. "A ball of light," I whispered. The darkness seemed to shake from my voice. It was then that branches lit against the black, reaching out into far corners of the murk too far to see. "It has many lines coming off it like branches, going in different ways."

"I too sense this," he said and it was then that my fingers felt the warmth of another's touch. "The light is a focal point and you are joined to it. This magic is old. It binds you both as well as... others, but only you and your former master seem to have recognised the connection."

The star felt so familiar and yet it felt wrong to be there. The more I looked upon it, the more its radiance pulsed with forgotten magic, the more I wished to step away and return to the world.

The tightness that struck my hands restrained that thought.

"Others?" I asked. "Could that be the hosts to other shards?"

"It is possible," said Solas. "This connection of yours is strong, perhaps too strong to break through mere magic alone, but I can construct barriers in order to prevent him from accessing your mind, should you wish them."

"Will they stop him from reaching me?"

"They should. At least, they will give you freedom in your dreams."

The memory of my master's words came to mind and the slight weakness I had managed to find. "And what about the other connections? Will they be able to do what Varhel has done?"

"They could if they were to somehow acknowledge it, but it seems unlikely."

"And what if I wanted to connect to them?

"In theory, you could, but why would you want to do such a thing?"

"Varhel mentioned the shards in the nightmare. He said that I was part of some plan and that the other shards were what he needed. If we could get to these shards before him then maybe we could gain an advantage. Perhaps we could even find out why the shards were created. If I could connect to them, then maybe I could get a sense of where they are."

"I see. It might be worth a try but first let us create the barriers." Solas moved but it was not enough to cause me to return to the world. His fingers were deft and strangely tender against my temples. It was then that a light flow of magic, cool and calm in a way that reminded me of a slow river, passed through my mind. The darkness became easier to move through.

"You said the focal point was attached to branches of light," he said. "Imagine each branch leads to a door, a solid door that contains the connection within. Do you see it?"

Upon mention, the darkness shifted to that of a stone wall, similar to those in human castles with cracks and vines of clinging roots. Etched into the wall appeared doors, with bronze and wooden beams. "I believe so."

"Good. Now, allow all these doors to close." The creak of wood caught my ears. "Each door holds a lock and in your hand is the key. Only you have the key to open these doors and so long as these doors remain locked, you will remain impervious to their influences. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

The walls of stone seemed to solidify with Solas' spells and I could feel the raw texture beneath a pressed hand. Locks of gold chains hung from the handles, preventing anything from getting in or out.

"Tell me, how do you feel?"

Frowning, I said, "I don't feel any different."

"As I would not expect you to. Your connection does not affect you in the waking world in the same way that it does when you are asleep. I assure you, the barriers are there. It is not a permanent solution as I am sure that after a while he will be able to see through them, but for now, they should prove beneficial to you, that is until we can find a more suitable alternative."

"What about the other shards? Is there a way to connect to one of them?"

"We could try. If you wish to follow one of these connections, open a door. Remember, do not open the one that links to your former master. Each connection feels different to the last. You will know which one your former master's influence resides in." After a short time, he asked, "Have you chosen a door?"  
Before me the door of bronze hinges and worm-eaten wood stood, the lock free from it with the key deep inside and twisted. "I have."

"Open your mind and allow me to follow you through."

My fingers twitched. "Solas, I'm not sure that's the wisest idea."

"Focus," he said. "You're doing well. Do not worry about me."

With a deep breath, I allowed my mind to relax and accepted his presence. It felt strange, full, like being trapped within a closet with another person but being unable to move due to the lack of space. But the spell he used was not permanent and we both knew that if I did not wish him to see something, he wouldn't.  
"Alright, Da'len. Go through the door."

Hesitant, I cautiously edged from the focal star and into the cold awake of murk the door led to. Blind and lost, I wandered, down valleys, up paths that seemed like narrow stairs and followed walls pretending Solas was beside me in the darkness. In a sense he was. It was a time after wandering that a fire latched onto my chest in a way I had never experienced, the heat burning but forming no pain. Darkness receded as swift as an arrow's tip and the beginnings of a vision took hold.

It was a hazy vision, difficult to see through blurred outlines, but from the corners, it was slowly recognised that the room in which it showed was a cavernous hall, covered with tiled walls layered with thin dust. The chamber held rows of benches, seemingly fashioned of oak and elm. In each corner shrouded by shadow held altars to the Creators born in the shape of dragons, owls, halla, wolves and more. But none of those gave way to interest. It was the large orb in the centre, held with a mirror's surface that cast a gentle shine against a morning's sun, brought about by the shattered remnants of a once whole ceiling. Glass vines wrapped around its plinth and down the rows of stone stairs to each altar, but the spectres that prayed before it, dark shadows that chanted sullen moans, were what brought about questions.

"Do you see what I see?" I whispered.

Solas' voice resonated through, quiet and clear as if he was beside me, but it did not disturb the spectres that seemed to be praying: their hands high and bodies hunched. "I do."

The hall was familiar, so familiar that for a brief moment it got me to believe that it was another nightmare my master had conjured to torment me. "I know this place. I know this room. It was where Varhel communicated to the Gods. It is where he asked for their help, and only one replied. It is where I... but I thought this place lost." I could feel my head shake in the real world. "How can it still remain, unless protected by something?"

I brought myself from the vision; withdrew from the world on a sudden impulse and opened my eyes. At first, my sight slipped over the trees that surrounded the glade. For some reason, I took comfort in their looming branches. Little time seemed to have passed between us and the glade. The half-moon had shifted to distant itself over grey peaks and into cloud cover.

"Da'len?" Solas asked, a confusion evident in both the firm line of his mouth and cross in his brows. He withdrew his hands from my temples. The connection of magic disappeared in a light shimmer of emerald and blue from his fingers.

My eyes shifted from his face to the snow and then back. "If you saw a map, do you think you could gain a sense of where this place is?"

Solas' quiet and studious reaction was the reply, likely in trying to figure out what I had planned. After a time, he said, "It would not be accurate."

"But you could find the place? If we were close, I'm sure we could find something."

"I suppose with the right amount of time and dedication, we could."

There was something about the shards that held my master's desire. Whatever it might have been, I doubted he would expect me to leave Skyhold in search of them. In truth, I feared leaving. The nightmare left an impression deep but to stay was his way of weeding me out from the humans. If there was one thing I knew about my master, it was that he used fear to his advantage and knew that my fear of him would keep me burried within the depths of Skyhold until the will to leave drove me mad. With rivals at court he used many tactics, but the one he favoured was the ability to manipulate one's mind to his will. To make one wonder if a life with him was better then fleeing. He would do that to me. With being forced to stay within a place for so long, I would begin to think that perhaps returning to him was not so difficult, that perhaps it would be better. Without the barriers to prevent his access to my mind he would plant thoughts and watch them grow, watch me be consumed by his lies until I was his again. If I did not act, it would one day happen.

"Then how would you find coming on another journey with me, Solas?" I asked and forced myself to stand. I stared off into the far mountains. The drifting clouds made dappled shadows chase across the snow once the moon returned. I smiled, secretly knowing the trouble we would face, but comforted by the thought that I was not alone. "I do believe we're going on a shard hunt."

...

_Thanks so much to fried nuggets for commenting and for everyone who's read the chapter! :)_


	24. A Jolly Sailor's Name

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty Four: A Jolly Sailor's Name

"The Planasene Forest? That's on the border of the Free Marches. Why would you possibly wish to go there of all places?" The Spymaster, Leliana, had asked back in the Keep's rotunda. It was a busy place during the dawn of morning with the shadows of absent-minded agents sweeping across the flood of sunlight cast from glassy panes.

I remembered it clearly. Beneath the edge of a nightingale cowl laid a twitching frown and narrowed eyes, hawk-like and searching, as if she was trying to source out the reason. Her arms had slowly crossed over silver chain mail, cloaked in a dark shade of violet that meshed with the blackened barrels stacked behind her, thick with dust and cracked in places.

"It's personal," I had said, felt my mouth pull taut and a tooth bite into the lower lip, before I leaned back against her trestle table. Its surface was scattered with grey and yellow pages of spidery scripture, crumpled and bound under sheets of leather and quills splotched in the darkest ink.

"I see, and I assume this has nothing to do with the man chasing you. And you're leaving so soon, but you haven't mentioned this to the Inquisitor. Interesting."

"He doesn't need to know."

"Oh, but that is where you're wrong. He does." Leliana turned to lay her arms out over the table and pulled out the crabbed map from beneath many torn parchments. Her chain mail glowed faintly in the forgotten lantern's flickers, but it was the daggers of steel kneaded into the gown beneath that held my attention. Even in the centre of Skyhold, she kept her weapons close. A wise decision. "You know, before you had my task set out for me. I had an idea of where you were, of course, but never thought you'd go as far as to travel to the Brecilian Forest wearing the uniform of my spies. I'm even more surprised that you went there in the first place." She cocked her head to the side. "Why did you go there?"

"I wished to see Jaras' clan. Times are difficult and it's worse for them."

"Ah, I see. And you could not have informed me first?"

My head tipped left and strands of black hair fell forward. "I didn't think you would let me go."

"That depended on the reason."

"I didn't know I was your prisoner."

"You're not." She raised herself higher. "But that doesn't mean I don't like to know where people are in case they find trouble." At catching the sight of a scroll held between the firm hands of an agent, Leliana rose from the table and plucked the scroll from the agent's fingers, unrolled it and stretched it out. "But fine. So long as I know where you're going, you can go." The scroll snapped between clasped hands and, after a short bow from the agent, Leliana returned to the table, grasped a dagger and forced it into the wood. The scroll lay at its point.

Knowing it was time to bid my leave, I had given her a short nod and turned to the rotunda's arched stairway.

Only before my feet touched stone steps, the spymaster called out, "But so you know, the Inquisitor will know about this."

"For some reason I doubt he'd cry over my absence," I had replied before I slipped down the rotunda's stairway and had readied the supplies needed for the long journey ahead.

But that was three days ago.

Beneath a louring sky, seeming to be a speck away from a dense rainfall, the lofty-wheeled wagon did rattle north along the dusty roads of Ferelden. The plodding hoofs of Assan trailed behind while his reign, fastened to the wagon's back, swung like a slack noose in the air. In every direction stretched fields lush with corn, wheat, flocks of crows pecking damp soil and hay bales stacked tight by farmers thick with muscle and teeth pricked with reeds.

The heavy snores of Dugan, his plump frame wrapped tightly in a shaggy duster and heavy axe clutched to the chest, echoed past the clatter of hoofs and broken rock over mud-splashed wagon wheels. Jaras nudged the dwarf's arm before trying to settle back on the wagon's bench, only to have the dwarf's snoring grow until all that could be done was to tug the duster over his head, muffling his noise.

"Whose damn idea was it to bring the dwarf, eh?" grumbled Jaras. He tugged at the scruff of his coat and pulled it over his ear points. "And to think I thought his stink was bad enough."

"At least he's getting sleep," muttered Varric who fidgeted in his place in an attempt to get comfortable. "I'd like to say I've slept in worst places but honestly, I'd rather sleep on the ground then on this heap of wood. And this place smells like a rotten cabbage."

"That's what you call nature, lad." Jaras stretched his arms wide and gulped in a deep breath of air. "Get a good whiff. There's bound to be a better, much healthier smell further down the road. Creators, got to love being out of the towns. Nothin' but fields and trees for miles."

"Oh yeah, nature. I'll never forget the smell, that's for sure."

At that, Jaras rolled his eyes and turned to observe the book in my hand. At the turn of a page and a squint through the grey daylight, he asked, "What book you readin', Da'mi?"

The book nearly flew out of my grasp and the page was quickly lost in a swift snap. "That is none of your business, Jaras."

"Are you blushing?" he asked in a display of arched eyebrows and an upturned mouth. "It is a blush, isn't it? Now I am interested."

"Jaras, go jump off the wagon."

"What's got you all rosy cheeked, eh? Come on, let me have a peek." Jaras inched from the bench with his hands stretched out. His fingers curled inward in a frightening imitation of a bear's claws.

Scowling, I flinched from his reach and waved a free hand out. A spell curled across the tips of my fingers in a display of pale mist. "Nae! Ga rahn! [No! Get away!] I swear if you reach for this book one more time I will freeze you where you sit."

"Is it dirty?" he asked and a wicked grin plastered his jaw. "Is that why you're blushing?"

"One more move and you'll be waiting for your groin to thaw for the rest of the month. I swear it." I waggled my fingers. Specks of white frost pricked his canvas breeches to prove a point.

Knowing his crowning jewels were at risk, Jaras edged back, slow and careful, but the grin remained. "You win this round, Da'mi. But I'll find out what's in that book of yours. Just you wait and see."

My nails faintly raked the book's frame once my legs had been crossed and the bind had been resettled against my high knee. Seemingly interested, Varric inclined his head to glance at the tome's front cover of a woman warrior, ginger in hair colour and stood proudly in a battlefield surrounded by armoured knights.

The dwarf's mouth parted, his brows crinkled, and then he asked, "Wait. That can't be right. Stranger, let me have a look at that book for a moment."  
At his extended hand, I drew back. "No."

"I just want to know what book that is. It looks familiar."

"It isn't."

"It's yours, Varric," Cole said from his place by Solas. Previously he had been watching the wagon driver, muttering something about the driver's wife not meaning to leave him, but seemed to have caught onto the conversation or at least was eager to include himself. What came next made the tips of my ears fall to my shoulders and most likely flush bright pink as well. "Swords and Shields."

"Cole!" It was too late.

The dwarf had already sank back in understanding. His features lifted. Chuckling softly, Varric rested large arms over the wagon's rail, resulting in a widened 'v' of his shirt and a mass of wiry chest hair on display. "You've gotta be shitting me. Really? Swords and Shields? The romance serial? Out of all my best works you had to pick my least popular one? Even I admit it's bad writing."

"It's not so terrible," I said without much thought and glanced down at the book, wondering whether praising the dwarf would be the correct choice or would simply booster his confidence to an impossible standard. "It's different. I happened to have found it in the marketplace. The merchant there said you were the author. It seemed only right that I read what you had written considering all those tales you've shared with us."

The wagon's bench creaked in Varric leaning in. "And? What do you think?"

"It's interesting, different to what I'm used to reading, especially with what passes for literature these days but I do like the genre of it. Romantic. Poetic in places. I never knew you had that side to you, Varric, and in a way it's thought-provoking. The narrative itself is simple to get into, holds attention and the characters are enjoyable. Something about the ferocity of the Guard Captain and hardness to her character really stands out, but she's sweet and kind to Ser Donnic- I mean, despite the roles in which she's played in. I've only read it the once though."

"She's read this one twice," said Cole softly. "Finds the romance between the captain and city guard to be cute, but wishes she was looked that way. A gentle smile. The briefest caress. Eyes lighting upon a shared gaze. She remembers a verse from memory: Ser Donnic intensely stared into the Guard Captain's honeyed eyes, softly whispering sweet nothings into her ear, wanting what they could never have... Lahris wants to know when the scenes between the two of them become more intimate."

I could feel the colour rise in my cheeks and quickly turned to Cole, who merely sat cross-legged at the front of the wagon, having changed his place from Solas' side to the front seat by the wagon driver.

"Cole, that's enough," I said more firmly.

The spirit-boy cocked his head, utterly bewildered, then darted his narrowed eyes to the road beneath the wagon, seemingly in search of an answer for my feelings that must have been a wave of incoherence to him.

"And here I thought Cassandra was the only one crazy enough to read it," Varric muttered to himself. "I think I'm going to have a word with my publisher about this. Something tells me I'm getting ripped off. To be honest though, Stranger, don't feel bad about picking that book. We're all romantics at heart, after all."

I nodded. "Perhaps, but does it end happily for them? The Guard Captain and Ser Donnic, I mean. The Guard Captain has been through enough pain in her life and her only friend is the Champion. If you cannot tell me if she and Ser Donnic stay together, can you at least tell me if she survives? It's disappointing when a novel ends in death."

With a tome's edge poised over his sharp chin, Solas peered over it, noticeably intrigued in the change in discussion. "Not surprising. Most famous literature ends with the hero surviving their great quest, while often resulting in their world changing for the better as a reward of sorts. It is more than common."

"Well everyone wants a happy ending eventually."

"That they do, Da'len, but seldom few get it or survive long enough to see what they have created."

I waited for him to continue, but he never did. There was a sadness behind his eyes, a brief flicker barely caught and would not have been seen if I had not been observing him so intently, but then he returned his focus to his tome and nothing else was said.

Slightly reluctant but knowing not to press the matter further, I returned my attention to Varric and waited patiently for his answer. However, the dwarf merely shook his head in response and said, "Sorry, Stranger. It'd spoil the rest of the series for you and stop you from buying the other issues."

My lips pulled down and arms crossed. "So be it, but I'm hoping for a happy ending."

"For you, Stranger, it'll be all sunsets and roses and the occasional cliff-hanger."

The wagon continued in its clatter and heavy bumps. The wheels jerked at every rock. Just below the flint of plain and stony hills, down a bare-faced valley and over a rickety wooden bridge lay the inland bay of glimmering grey water, poked by the thick masts of vessels, swarmed by gulls harbouring at the fishing port. The wagon-driver gave out a gruff call for us to gather our belongings and ready to depart. Dugan stirred beneath his duster. A snort rose but other than that, the dwarf only mumbled words no one knew the meaning to.

The wagon rumbled down the valley, passing wood-thatched homes of sod roofs and windows draped with tattered bear hide, folds with rams huddled close and a small stable, only to reach the end of the dirt road to part onto sandy shores leading to the harbour quay.

The wagon jerked upon the horse's sudden halt and the wood creaked when my companions and I climbed down, one by one.

"Water," Varric said when he cast a glimpse over the shoreline. To the west and east the white cliffs of Ferelden did appear high above a morning's mist, while to the north lay the cliff's parting leading out to the Waking Sea. "Pretty exciting, I know."

"It has been sometime since I have had the pleasure of sailing," said Solas once he brushed the crinkles from his robes. "I do believe I will enjoy the change."

Jaras' sword sheathes clashed upon his feet meeting the dirt, and when he looked in the direction of the ships, his features sunk. "I'm not too sure about it. Never been sailing before."

Varric turned from the ships and patted the elvhen's shoulder. "You'll do fine, Quick-fingers. Just remember, if you feel sick throw your head over the edge of the boat, not on the deck or else you'll be cleaning it."

"Thanks for the advice, lad. Might aim for Bianca instead."

Varric scowled at him. "If you think I'm letting you anywhere near Bianca you've got another thing coming. Trust me, you don't want to get on the wrong side of her."

"Lad, she's a crossbow."

"And you're an elf. Doesn't really matter much, does it?"

Assan pulled back once his reign was released from the wagon. I tugged at the bridle and, with a hand lighting brushing the white patch of his neck, guided him over to the others, who turned to look back and realise that the horse was going to also accompany them on their journey.

"You're taking your horse with you? How's that going to work?" asked Varric.

"I'm not going to leave him here," I said. "Besides, Dugan promised he would find room for him on the ship. His friend has harboured many animals on his ship from different countries without trouble. Assan should be fine."

"That's right, long-ear," Dugan said as he struggled to climb down the wagon's back step and almost toppled over once he met the ground, steadying himself with an arm against the wagon's side. His chain mail hit the ground with a sharp rattle and was dragged across the earth with each heavy step. "Been a long time since I've seen this surface-dweller, but don't worry your head about it. He's expectin' us."

The air smelled of salt, fish and ale while the sea's current lapped at the hulls of both rowing boats, those that had not yet washed ashore to be half-buried beneath the sand, and of ships hailing great grey sails flapping in long waves, ready to leave the bay at their ship captain's call.

Along the quay, sailors of all-sorts walked to and from great vessels carrying chests of foreign merchandise and barrels of fish, only to offload them onto the deck in stacks that rivalled the ship masts.

At the end of the quay was the largest galleon, built from hollowed-out dark timber and oak with grains of black and brown twisted into large gashes on the vessel's sides, only covered by planks of poorly nailed wood. Beneath its mud-coloured sails strengthened by hemp rope stood a man in a navy doublet, canvas breeches torn at the ankle and a cutlass at his waist. The man stood proud, arms firm on his belt and a scarf tied loosely around his neck, while his face, weather-worn like a melted candle, held a cocky grin glinting with a golden tooth. He must have been the ship's captain.

Behind him stood members of his crew, men in scruffy breeches and torn tunics splotched with sweat and sea water. Two of them came forth upon our close presence with a sailor hung between them. At a heavy cry, the sailor was flung from the ship's deck and left to roll down a thick plank of wood, only to land back-first onto the quay groaning.

"Away with you, you thieving swindler!" the ship captain bellowed and took a mighty step down onto the plank connecting his ship to the harbour deck. In a quick flash of blinding steel, the captain drew his cutlass and pointed it below the sailor's chin, tsking when the sailor sneered, showing a mouth full of black and broken teeth. "I should cut you where you lie, but perhaps that would be too kind for a man such as you."

The captain cast an arch look around the sailors that had gathered around him and a snigger swept over his crew. "But no. No, that will not do at all. Blood upon my vessel? Perish the thought." In a gracious flick of a wrist, the cutlass was sheathed and the captain stepped back. Upon the sailor's side-ward spit, the captain proudly raised his bearded chin and scrunched his scarred nose in disgust. "Now go, before I change my mind."

The sailor's feet tangled under him upon standing and he lurched sideways, colliding into another sailor and sending the barrel that one carried into the murky depths below the quay. Laughter bellowed around him and he took to the road, half-blind in direction, as swift as a hare in a field.

It was when the sailor's form disappeared over the dirt path that the laughter died and the captain raised a hand for his crew to return to work. Men came to and from the galleon, but the captain had seen our approach and observed our movements as a closely as a harrier eying a shrew, that was until his cautious gaze caught Dugan and there was no mistaking his grin under thick bristles. "By my many years on the sea, this cannot be. Surely this is some trick fate has played upon my eyes. Dugan, you tiny, hairy-faced dwarf! What are you doing out of your hole, hmm? The last place I'd expect to see you is above land with weather so fine. Aren't your people afraid of the sky?"

"Yeah, yeah, you plump-bellied bronto. It's good to see you too," Dugan grumbled not too enthusiastically, but the short snort and brush of a curved lip was enough it seemed for the captain.

"That it is, my friend, that it is." The ship captain only looked more amused once he swept his gaze over the rest of us. "And I see you have found friends on your travels. Allow me to introduce myself, lest you find me rude. I am Ser Ryleth Le Fryar, sea captain to this lovely damsel, the Lust of the East." Ryleth gave a sweeping bow and gestured back to his galleon. "A pretty fine ship, no?"

"Ser Ryleth Le Fryar?" echoed Varric, eyes narrowed. "That's who you are? Shit. Should have known Crazy's contact would be someone just as crazy as him."  
Ryleth Le Fryar tilted his head but kept silent.

Frowning, I said, "I'm not sure I understand. Is there something wrong with this human?"

"You seriously don't know?" Varric asked, brows arched and arms up at either side. "His ship is a death trap. It practically screams, "Shipwreck. Turn back before it's too late.' Even Isabela wouldn't sale with him and that's saying something."

The corner of Ryleth's nose twitched twice. "I beg to differ, small dwarf. The Lust of the East is the swiftest ship on the seas."

"The name's Varric Tethras and that ship of yours has more holes on its side then the barrels in the Hangman's cellar."

Ryleth straightened and rested a heavy hand on the hilt of his cutlass. "A minor detail, one that is easily fixable and one should not be off-putted by appearance, but hold a moment, did you say Isabela?"

Varric's brows connected over a long broken nose. "Rivaini? Yeah, what about her?"

"Captain Isabela of the Siren's call." Ryleth caught the bristles of his short beard and stroked thoughtfully. "Now, that is a name that has not graced my ears in oh too many years. It has been sometime since I have had her grace my deck. Do tell, how is she faring across the sea?"

"She's doing fine. Last time I heard she went back to the Raiders of the Waking Sea. Not sure if she's actually made a name for herself there though."

The sea captain blinked slowly, then licked his lips and glanced over to the galleon. His sight caught on the cabin's rooftop. "The raiders? Ah. I do know of them. A pity. Would have been nice to see her again. There are so many fond memories of our times together in my quarters. A lioness beneath the bed sheets, no? But alas, I cannot dwell on the past." He looked to Dugan, a curious flicker in his eye - mischievous in its own way. "Come now, my short, hairy friend. There must be a reason you sent for me. I'm assuming it has nothing to do with Antivan wine as I know you prefer more adulterated specialties for your drinks."

Dugan gave a snort, loud and sudden, startling a flight of gulls from the ship's masts and cleft banister. One by one they took to the skies in a wild frenzy of fallen feathers and grey wings. "We need a ride across the sea and I told this lot that if anyone could take us across the Waking Sea and back without losing a tooth or an eye, it'd be you."

Ryleth chuckled at that. "My friend, you honour me and are too kind," he said, a stubby finger on his chin. "I would be more than happy to escort you and your friends, but surely you do not expect me to do this for free, correct?"

Dugan sighed and turned to the rest of us. "Figured as much. All right surface-dwellers, empty your pockets."

"What?" we all said in union, except for Cole.

Dugan merely shrugged. "Well I didn't bring enough to pay the plump-bellied bronto. I thought you all had."

"First I'm being told to go on a ship that'll likely result in my death and now I'm being robbed for it," Varric grumbled and stuffed thick hands into the thin pouches of his belt, searching. "It's like Kirkwall all over again."

At the sight of us pulling out soverigns, Ryleth held a broad hand out and shook his head. "Now, now, my friends. I have all the soverigns I need for the moment. What I ask for is something much more precious and I'm sure your business will be able to help with it."

Dugan coughed as if choking. "By Stone if that's all then count me in."

Varric frowned. "Wait, Crazy has a business?"

Ryleth nodded. "In imported gems, yes."

"Gems?"

"A dwarf's gotta make a livin'," said Dugan. "Occasionally I find these gems in the rocks of Orzammar and turns out there're buyers for 'em on the surface. I sell what I don't want and get the profits from it to carry on diggin' for rocks. How'd you think I got to Skyhold in the first place, eh? Not by being broke, that's for sure."

Varric glanced between us all, surprised. "Well, I didn't see that coming."

Jaras caught the old dwarf's shoulder and tugged back. "Wait, you're rich? And you didn't tell me? What in the Void's that about, lad?

Dugan shuffled from the elvhen's grasp and crossed his arms. "We're gettin' off topic, long-ear. Are you going to take us across the sea or not?"

At that, Ryleth extended his arm out and said, "For you, dear little dwarf, I can, especially when it has been such a long time since I have had the presence of such a fine lady."

Unknowing to what the human meant, I inclined my head. "I'm sorry?"

"No, it is I who is sorry for not immediately gracing your presence, my lady." Before I knew it, the sea captain had taken my hand in his own and lightly grazed his beard over my knuckles. "May I have the honour of knowing your name?"

"It's Lahris," I said and tried to tug my hand free, only to have the human's grip firm. "Lahris Elgar'shiral."

"Ah! Such a beautiful name, especially for a beautiful woman. I do believe we will both be enjoying each others company."

Unknowing what to do in that particular situation, I modestly looked to the murky water and observed the froth the waves made against the ship's hull. It was not that I was unused to flattery or the intention of men. There was a suitor or two in my past, though nothing ever truly escalated. The attention itself from Ryleth, however, was more uncomfortable then pleasant. The feel of newly moistened lips by the flick of a tongue upon my knuckle's base as well as the tingle of ale-induced hot breath across the skin sent a sickening chill down to my stomach. Reeling my hand away was more tempting then it should have been. "I'm not sure about that considering what happened to the sailor thrown overboard mere moments ago."

"Ah, yes. That was most unfortunate," Ryleth said and touched my knuckles once more before releasing them to clasp my fingertips. "A thousand apologies of course, but it is so hard to find good crewmen these days. Caught him trying to rob a barrel of imported Antivan wine that we saved from a band of unworthy gentlemen at a harbour. Due to this unpleasant situation, I had to make an example for my own reputation, and what better then to throw him into a land he knows nothing of? I've heard the Fereldens here are most harsh with criminals. For his sake, I do hope that is true. But I do not wish to go into anymore non-pleasantries, especially within the presence of such a fine lady."

For appearance purposes only, I gave a wry smile, one practised on so many before that it was nearly perfected - no trace of my true feelings could be seen, merely a facade that, by the glint in Ryleth's eyes, was quickly believed. "I see, and have you met the rest of my company? They are more important than I."

Ryleth Le Fryar swept his gaze over them, but shook his head at my words. "That, my lady, simply cannot be true." He turned to observe the rest of the company, particularly Solas. "Now isn't that a surprise. An elf man in nightwear. I have seen quite a lot in my travels, but you, my friend, are something else entirely."

Solas' lips fell firm. "This is not nightwear."

"So you say and yet your clothing speaks differently. Are you a hermit by any chance? Or do you simply not know where to buy fine clothing?" He turned to Jaras. "And another elf, I see. A swordsman judging by your weaponry. Excellent. Tell me, have you used cutlasses? They are most useful in a duel. Perhaps we can spar one time, one on one? It has been sometime since I bested someone not of my crew, after all."

Jaras grazed a hand over one of his sheathes and patted it twice. "We'll have to see, lad."

Finally, Ryleth set his sight on Cole, who merely stared back at him. "And this... this pale gentlemen. He is with you, no less?"

Cole smiled beneath his hat. "Hello."

Ryleth bowed his head. "Hello, my friend." It was then that he noticed Assan and frowned. "And I see you brought a horse. Am I to suggest that this is also to accompany you all?"

"That's right," said Dugan. "It's the long-ear's horse-beast. Told her she could bring it along so here we are."

"I see. Interesting. Well, I suppose I must make do, hmm?" Ryleth turned and yelled over his shoulder, "Oi, boy!" From the galleon's deck came a boy, no more than eleven years with a bucket and rag in both hands. "Show them to their hammocks in the sleeping quarters, then have the men offload the rest of the merchandise and sell as much as you can to the traders here. Ah, and move the horse to the hold and tell the men to take the bails from the fields. They won't be missed. We leave at sundown." Ryleth clasped an arm around Dugan's back. "Now, my dwarf friend, you come with me. We have much to discuss."

Upon the galleon's deck, as sizable as it seemed on the quay with shrouds meshing the sails from the bow to the stern, the sailor boy led the company and I to a stairway and then below deck, through the hold and to the crew's quarters. It was an isolated section of the hold with the remainder of the crew above deck. The air was rich in the stench of sweat, fish and bilge water, mingled in the odour of absent myriad fruit, spices and ale. To say it was unpleasant was a vast understatement.

Possessions were stowed away either in crates bound in sheets of worn blankets or hung on racks nailed into the quarter's beams. Each crew member held their own hammock and the sailor boy had gestured to several at the back for us. The hammock's ropes were frayed and tattered, but a place to rest was a place to rest, no matter how poor in quality.

We lingered down there for sometime, listening to the creaks of the ship and its gentle rocking. Once the stench became too unbearable, I left the others to venture up the hold's steps to the main deck. It was a darker time then with the sun about to rest in the late dusk sky. It would only be an hour before the Lust of the East set sail for the south west of the Free Marches.

Thoughts began to flow to and from my mind like the slow tide, white on the shoreline. I stayed on the deck for sometime and leaned against the railing to watch the waters of the Waking Sea deepen in the bay and to observe the gulls floating above its surface, catching stray fish in their beaks and then flying into the sky once they had their fill.

I began to think of the visions I had experienced back in the Frostback Mountains and the chamber in which the shard's connection brought me to. It had barely changed over the long centuries it remained hidden from the world. Truly, I thought it lost like most of Elvhenan, but no, it had lived somehow and the connection must have meant that others had survived to, only how I did not know. It could not have been uthenera or the eternal sleep. They were but servants when taken from their homes, forced into the service of my master and they held barely any importance other than to further his plan, but to think that they had remained after all those years was more concerning than anyone would have thought. If they had saw me again, I had to wonder, would they have bowed, believing me to still be an object of Varhel's will and one to fear, or would they lash out like a fierce storm, knowing it was I who helped in their corruption? Would they even remember me? Perhaps they would sympathise knowing I had fled from Varhel's influence. But it was shortly after their corruption that I fled from them and the centuries in which they lived under Varhel after my frozen sleep was something unknown to me. Whatever happened, I needed to know.

"Soverign for your thoughts?" I turned to see Solas had joined me against the rail, arms folded over its edge and robes swaying slightly in the bay's gentle breeze. At my silence, he added, "It's an expression, used quite often among Fereldens and in a few parts of Orlais if I am not mistaken."

I gave a tight-lipped smile.

He pulled back slightly, resting only one arm over the rail and moved the other to lightly trace the skin of my elbow. "What seems to be troubling you?"

"Nothing. I just wished to get some fresh air."

Solas crinkled his nose. "Yes, that I understand. I must admit, the hold smells far worse than I imagined and such chances of peace are fleeting enough. But it is not just the smell that brought you up here, is it?"

"No. It isn't." I leaned further over the rail and thought over what to say. "Solas, when we reach land you and the others must let me go into the forest alone."

His feather-like touch stilled. "Why is that?"

"It is a place I do not want you to see. The shards were founded there. Everything began there and I have done some things that will make you think ill of me. I do not wish that. Not from you."

"I would never think ill of you."

"You truly would if you knew." I downcast my gaze to the ripples of water below the galleon that spread and clashed amongst the waves. A rowing boat had just left the quay. The fishermen seemed to have had trouble in keeping their oars steady. In a matter of moments the oars had broke through the water's surface and the boat was slowly rowed towards one of the smaller, nearing vessels drifting in the distance. "There are things about me that are better left secret, this included. This is a part that I must face alone. You and the others have been helpful and I am entirely grateful for all you have done, especially coming all this way for me, but once we touch land, that is where we part. I will return once I find out what Varhel has done and will explain as much as I can, but you must trust me on this."

"And if there is danger?" he asked. "You said it yourself that something must be protecting that place for it to have stayed intact for all these years."

"I am more than capable of defending myself."

"I know. I have seen your skills in combat and though impressive, you are not indomitable. You will need help, Da'len. You know this."

"I know that I will not let you see what I did, what I have done. No one can."

Solas quietly cast his gaze out over the distance. "Allow me to tell you something. Some of my fondest memories were found in crumbling cities long picked dry by treasure seekers, but there was one memory, found in a place far from most that held a story one could not so easily forget." He closed his eyes, remembering. "It was of a boy whom was influenced by the brutality the world thrust upon him. He was harsh in his actions, swift in cunning and ruled by both arrogance and wit. Many atrocities were caused in his name, many deaths by his word and command. Many feared him and for good reason. Even the Gods were cautious when speaking to him, unknowing which way his focus would turn. But one day he saw what his influence had done. He saw the families torn by his selfishness. He saw the chaos his brethren cast across their people."

Interested, I asked, "What did he do?"

Solas' eyes opened to meet mine. "He changed. Took on a path not walked by many in the hope of bettering the fates of those he should have protected rather than ruled over. The more the years passed, the more trees wilted and died and ages turned, he saw the world change and the mistakes he had done, but never did he falter. He would never cease in his quest knowing what was lost by his hand."

"Is this true?"

"It is."

"I haven't heard of that tale. What was his name?"

"I do not know," Solas said. "It was never spoken. There is only so much I can gather from the Fade."

"But you would forgive him, even after everything he did?"

"I would." He glanced down and faintly touched my arm to trace circles on the skin. "There was a saying I heard long ago. 'The healer has the bloodiest hands.' Do you know what that means?"

I nodded. "I have heard of it. A healer cannot tend a wound without knowing how deep it is and the pain cannot be healed by simply hiding it."

"Indeed. You must accept. Accept the blood to make things better. If you accept what you have done, Da'len, then that is the hardest part done. The rest comes naturally."

After letting out a tired breath, I looked away. "I accepted it a long time ago."

"Then you should not care for anyone else or their opinion on the matter. So long as you have turned from your dark path, then nothing else matters."

"Easier said then done." My voice dropped very low, barely above a whisper and Solas had to lean in to hear. "If you can find it in yourself to forgive and still wish to come, then promise me you will not think less of me when you find out. What I did was at a darker time and was done out of survival. I had no choice, but I do know that I could have prevented it, but chose not to. Promise me this."

"You have my word."

"Then it seems you will be tested, Solas, because what you have just promised to is something that will surely break and once you see it for yourself, you will not forgive me."

I let the quiet fall between us, knowing it did not matter, and watched as the gulls glided from the water's surface to rise in the direction of the dipping sun, cresting over the western hills and casting a looming shadow over the water. In the end, it was going to happen. I had let the elvhen get too close, believing he would be different, but a part of me, a small part buried deep within my chest knew it would not end how I wished it. I had trusted him with the secret of my identity, an identity few knew and he had not spoke of it to anyone, something I was grateful for, but to know more was something not even he could be ready for. The action I might have had to take in order to keep him from telling the Inquisition or anyone else might be something that had to happen, and by Dirthamen I begged for it not to be that way, but when it came to that time, I knew that I had to do what was necessary no matter the consequence.

I only hoped for both our sakes that he would understand. The last thing I needed was for his blood to be added to my hands amongst the rest.

...

_Sorry for the late chapter but I've just started the first of my College exams. The chapters will be a bit slower over the weeks but when I get the time, I'll post them._

_Finally getting to one of the interesting parts of the story. Can't wait to get onto the next couple of chapters. Anyway, just wished to thank fried nuggets, ADGSISADIUHOAJDP and AkatsukiShizu3 for the comments. They're definitely appreciated and thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying the story so far._


	25. They Say The Seas Are Blind

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty Five: They Say The Seas Are Blind

Up went the Lust of the East's stern. Down went its prow. The masts rose to touch the sky of pale grey and then the long spar of wood extended from the vessel's tip, held above the arms of a bronze figurehead cast as an iron lady baring a scaled tail, dipped to cut into the dark waves of the ocean in a spray of white. The vessel rocked on the tide. The torn sails lurched at every heavy dip. Ropes were pulled, barrels were bounced below deck and yet the galleon's crewmen howled in time with the sea captain's shanty chant on the quarter deck.

_"Had a fair voyage down to a Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay!  
Met a fair maiden down in a Rivain town, _  
_Way hay, my friends, way hay!"_ sang Ryleth Le Fryar whom grinned yellow teeth. A bottle of Antivan wine sloshed in one fist while the other was wrapped over the ship's helm, creaking when he swayed back and forth.  
_"Had her a ship and name in a Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay.  
We slept all night in a Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay._

_She left me there in a Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay.  
She robbed me down in a Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay._

_Left bare I crawled from the Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay,  
She took my ship from the Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay._

_Gone is she from the Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay,  
Should never have trusted the girl from the Rivain town,  
Way hay, my friends, way hay."_

Perched upon a crate by the foremast, Varric paused in the midst of shuffling the stack of chipped playing cards and, on spotting the drunken captain above and hearing a particularly croaked high note, shoved his brow into a thick fist. "I don't care what anyone says. The sound of waves is not soothing and Ser-drinks a lot up there isn't helping much."

Over by the galleon's banister, the sound of retching could be heard along with a string of pained groans. A shaken body came soon after when Dugan fell back from the banister, wiped the side of his mouth and brushed through the wiry hairs of his beard with white, stubby fingers. "Stone, I want... to go back... to Orzammar... to land... just off this damn piece of wood."

Beside him another head resurfaced, knees weak and head bobbing. "Lad," Jaras croaked, unable to keep his sight steady on the dwarf without it drifting to the sea. "I think for once I agree with you, but for all that is good in this world, shut up."

Dugan, his flattened nose and scarred cheeks tanned and flaky from being on land for too long, turned a very pale green upon his slow forming scowl. "Don't tell me to... to... oh, Stone-" The dwarf clambered over the ship's side and threw his shag of beard over.

"Have I mentioned that dwarves are lousy swimmers?" Varric crinkled his broken nose at the foul smell that wafted up the ship's deck. "Just... keep that in mind before talking to any drunken sailors or getting on the wrong side of the captain up there."

"There's nothing to worry about, Varric," I said and looked out over the ship's bowsprit.

We had sailed north and a little east for five days straight, not lingering in one part of the ocean for long. The air came clear and warm upon a soft wind, a wind that had gently coursed us through the Waking Sea for the last few days and nights, while the skies though grey seemed to show parts of clarity over the horizon. Below the vessel, whales could be seen peeking from the starboard way sprouting above the water's surface in a display of fins and dark forms.

I lingered by the bowsprit a little longer than intended while the dwarf continued to shuffle his cards until the whales had began to surface less and turn to deeper ocean. From there, I stepped from the ship's bow and over to the foremast, perching myself on the deck beside Solas and the stack of crates assembled together as a poor substitute for a table.

"You are in safe hands on this ship, even if you may not think so," I reassured the dwarf and settled myself for the game.

The dwarf grumbled something about me being wrong and cast the cards out in a flick of a wrist: five set per player faced-down, the black and red-streaked diamond backs all anyone could see. Both nimble and greedy fingers plucked the cards from the stack of crates. I cast a flicker of a glance over the torn, grey pieces before peering out over to the other players. Solas' expression remained impassive as usual, not showing any hint into whether he had been dealt a good or poor hand. Varric hid his thoughts with a grin, bold, brash and without a single twitch. I was amongst professionals, it seemed. Even if Solas had stated that he had never played that game before, there was a confidence in his baring that suggested he was either a quick learner or held experience in games similar to Wicked Grace, that was if he had not lied. If only Jaras and Dugan hadn't left before the game began. I knew those two well enough to stand a chance.

Glancing over at Cole, I presumed if anything that I could beat him. The spirit was still learning the tricks and trades of the game and though I was in no way good myself, the spirit, bless his heart, tried to do well, but his expressions gave everything away: his eyes would light and linger upon spotting a good card, while his lips would lower upon gazing at the rest. He even unknowingly spoke some of the cards aloud.

"Besides," I said and looked back at my hand. "I find this quite amusing."

The aim of the game was to gain as many matching cards of one suit as possible before someone struck the angel of death card, a card that ended the game and brought all hands forward, poor or not. It seemed fortune favoured me that day. The twin serpents of deceit and sadness joined, while the song of twilight, knight of ages and card of daggers remained.

Confident in my hand, I cast two coins over the crate - bold but not too daring.

"Two coppers," Varric observed. "Not bad. I'm in with three silvers." The coins rattled upon hitting the wood and Varric turned to circle the faces around him, only to land on Solas. "What about you, Chuckles? Going to fold?"

"And give you the satisfaction of winning the game without a challenge, child of the stone? I think not." Solas parted with two coppers and gained a new card from the deck.

Varric fidgeted in his seat and cast a glimpse at the spirit boy. "You doing alright, kid?"

"The serpents look angry and the knight stands without a crown," Cole said. His narrowed eyes stared into the cards as if they could tell their own story. "He never wanted the crown."

The dwarf rolled his eyes. "Don't talk to the cards, kid."

Beneath the shadow of his woollen hood, Solas calmly looked up from his hand and carefully studied my expression. That was until something came to his mind and he said, "You seem quite at ease when at sea, Da'len."

"That's because this isn't my first time at sea," I said and threw the twilight song card into the centre of the crates, sacrificed to gain another.

The apostate gave a simple nod. "I thought not."

Jaras stumbled towards the crates and shifted to down the bottle of ale he had found in the cargo-bay earlier in one long swig. It was assumed that he had found it in the hope that it would settle his sickness, but it would more likely make it worse. A drop of muddy juice trickled down his chin upon the glass hammering the crate and Jaras regarded me with a tilted head. "I didn't know you went sailing, Da'mi."

"Well the best place to practise ice magic is by the ocean, second to the mountains." At his quietness, I added, "There's an abundance of water easy to control and if I were to make a mistake then it would be simple to correct. It was my father's idea. My home town was also closer to the sea than any mountain ranges, meaning it was not far of a journey to walk and the servants were always out collecting fish. Fish was a delicacy in the town you see and was one of the main trading ports of the North. Feren and I used to stow away on some of the servant's boats when they didn't know. We were always caught but I do not think they minded."

"So you grew up in a town? Thought you grew up with the Dalish," said Varric.

I gave the dwarf a wry smile. "Now, Varric, do I look like the Dalish type?"

The dwarf gave a half-shrug and flicked a card into the centre of the crate. The serpent of avarice. "To be honest, it's hard to tell you elves apart sometimes."

"As are you dwarves," I retorted, "but as said before, yes, I came from a town. It is gone now though. Nothing left. But let us not focus on that, yes? I do have a game to win after all."

Knowing it was a sensitive topic, the players returned to gazing at their hands in silent study.

The game of Wicked Grace continued for the remainder of an hour. Each time a card was sacrificed and replaced, coin was added and taken. After sometime Jaras and Dugan returned to the game, but their rounds of fortune only seemed to worsen and both ended their turns as quickly as they had gained their cards.

The collection of coins, copper and silver alike clinked upon every tilt of the ship's side and glinted upon every rift of rare sunlight that peeked through the clouds. The waves were little more than steady tremors, occasionally settling to ripples before returning with a bump that set the dwarves on edge.

"You seem to be doing well for a beginner, Solas," I commented at his lack of voice and action. Throughout the game the elvhen sacrificed cards and gained cards, added a copper or two to his biddings and waited for the others to fold. In that current turn he had played more confidently, adding another three coppers and a silver to the collection.

"As are you," he said.

"Varric has taught me a few things, that is true. It is you that I am curious about."

Solas appeared unconcerned, instead rather amused. He sat back against the foremast and surveyed my face with little more than flicks of his eyes. "Oh?"

I regarded him for a moment and felt just a small frown tug at my lip. "You're sure you haven't played this game before?"

"Quite sure, yes."

_But you're too quiet to be someone down on their luck, _I thought and leaned over the crates to pick out another card.

Dugan spat his opinion out over the ship's side, cheeks flushed by sea sickness. "The long-ear's cheatin'. He must be."

Behind the dwarf came a very loud, mocking laughter, added by a cough of choked ale. Jaras dismissed the dwarf with a wave of a hand, so lifeless that it flopped onto the crates like a fish splayed out on land. "You're just saying that because you lost the first game, lad."

The old dwarf cast his gaze out over the ship's railing with a mutter of, "Yeah, yeah. Stupid long-ear."

After a couple of more turns I had collected enough cards to be certain that my hand was something to be rivalled with. The three serpents of deceit, sadness, and survival, the dawn knight and the knight of sacrifice were all there was. It may not have been as stable as a set of four matching cards, but truthfully my focus was not at the game at hand but of the elvhen apostate's dwindling coin.

Near the end of the round Cole had folded his hand and Solas had discarded two final cards, the song of love and song of mercy. That must have meant that the other cards he held were either a suit of angels, songs or daggers, all powerful cards that would best me. There was still the hope of Varric winning, though, and I had to wonder what the dwarf had up his sleeve, both figuratively as well as literally.

"Shall we see how well you have both done, Solas, Varric?" I asked in a firm, challenging voice in the hope of summoning some response.

Solas' thoughtful gaze met mine, the pale blue in them conveying a flicker of amusement, not uncertainty, worry or false hope. Qualities that proved a confident rival who knew what he was doing.

Varric fell back in his seat and gestured outwardly to the crates. "You show us first, Stranger."

Deliberately slow, I set my cards out one at a time. The serpents graced the day in their black, coiled forms, and it only added to the dwarf's curving lip. "Three serpents."

"Ooh, a tough call."

I bent my head. "You don't seem too convinced, Varric."

"Well, I don't mean to brag but..." The dwarf mimicked my action, drawing the cards and laying them bare. Upon Dugan and Jaras' widened stares, Varric grinned as wide as a mountain cat and had already leant over the stack of crates to collect the winnings by the time he said, "Four daggers. I do believe I win this round."

Solas held his hand out to the dwarf, an action that faltered both his grin and twitching fingers. "A moment, child of the stone. I have yet to show my hand."

The smug grin slowly lessened when realisation caught up with the poor dwarf. "What, you got something better, Chuckles?" Varric asked and arched an eyebrow.

"As a matter of fact-" The elvhen's long fingers gracefully grazed the thin cards before flipping them over. It was then that he could not hold the devilish, slightly slanted smile from escaping even with part of his face shadowed by the hood. "I do."

The dwarf noticeably paled. He sank back in his seat, utterly dumbfounded. "Shit."

Four angels: black wings and skulled faces behind crossed scythes upturned and laid out for all to see.

Varric glared at the cards for a long time, wondering, considering how he may have went wrong, most likely due to the fact that he had cheated, before he eventually, despite his better judgement, allowed himself to smile, pat the elvhen's shoulder and ask, "How in Andraste's name did you pull that out of your hat, Chuckles?"

"I simply did what you all do, Varric." Solas cast a look to me. "Misdirection and being mindful of one's opponents."

In slight realisation that his words were meant for me, I asked far too innocently, "Is that supposed to mean something, Solas?"

"Just the significant lack of coin in my possession." The apostate leant over the stack of crates and casually pocketed his winnings, but there was a deliberate seriousness to his tone that made me wonder.

"You knew?"

"Only after the third round." He sat back in his seat. The coins clinked when the pouch holding them was tossed into his pack. "I noticed your fingers move after every third turn, especially when the coin count had increased. You would charm the coins to fall from the table without my knowing and then collect them with your foot. A subtle plan that may have worked in your favour if I were not expecting it."

"How would you expect it?"

"I have known you long enough to know that you are cautious in your decisions. I suspected that if you could not gain a solid footing in the game then you would turn things to your advantage, no matter how little the victory."

Under my breath, I swore. Only after a couple of moments did I realise what the elvhen meant. "It seems you have been focusing a lot on me then, Solas."

His grin turned from devilish to teasing in a matter of heartbeats. "Focus most certainly not wasted, lethallan."

There was a sudden awareness of the dwarves, Jaras and Cole who had listened to the discussion, lacking any real action or behaviour to suggest they hadn't. At that, I looked away from the elvhen, turned to stand from the stack of crates, arched my back until the sourness eased and then took the pouch of coins from my pocket. "Do you want the coin back?" I extended my hand.

The elvhen brushed it back. "No. You may keep it."

A great rack of clouds came steadily from the north, growing darker after each passed moment. The air chilled upon the slight swell of the sails and the rocking of the ship took on an uneasy, unforeseen pace, gentle one moment and then sharp in thrashes the next. Waves began to spit on the bow. The gulls long-since perched on the masts took swift flight away from the ship, and instead left in the direction of white cloud and calmer waters.

"It seems a storm is coming," Solas commented. All traces of mirth vanished on its sight and his jaw set in a way to mask the concern his voice betrayed. "We should get below deck before it worsens."

Knowing better then to wait until the storm found us or even to see if it merely passed, we left the deck and took to the lower half of the ship, only pausing when Dugan left in a mutter of something along the lines of, "If we're going in that shit-hole then I'm gonna need a bucket," only to return moments later with that very thing.

It was not long before most of the crew whom had not been assigned for the evening look-out joined in going below deck, followed by Ryleth Le Fryar who hadn't paused in his shanty chant until he fell into his cabin sober.

...

The gentle patter of water was the first to wake me. It came in the form of chilled rain that spat from the ceiling cracks and splits in the rotten beams of wet wood. Above, the echoes of male cries could be heard in abundance as well as the hammer of rushing feet, noises that merged with the creak of old hinges. Deep shadow drenched the cabin, the lantern glass cracked in the far corners and fires distinguished. In the faint glow of my spell, clasped in a pale-stricken hand, hammocks swung back and forth in time with the ship's uneasy tosses, as slack as nooses without a weight to keep them down. The bodies were missing from them. They all were saving for the dwarves and elvhen in the hammocks below mine. Even Cole seemed to have disappeared, most likely to the main deck by the noise.

The hammock swung from under me. The bare soles of my feet caught the timber floor, drowned in icy sea water, knee-deep and slowly rising. Packs and satchels clanked together from the cabin's beams, still latched to their supports, but the crates on the side were tipped sideways with their contents, corked glasses, tankards, clothes and gold left scattered under the water. Those that were in the cabin remained asleep - huddled in their hammocks unknowing to what transpired. I forced my feet forward and curled my fingers into the hanging ropes. The light material of my gown caught the water, rippling it. With each unsteady stride the ship was propelled in a different direction and the sea water thrashed against the chamber's walls.

"Solas!" I grasped onto the elvhen's arm in an attempt to steady myself, then when the ship calmed in its movement, shook his sleeve. He stirred, albeit slowly and leaned his face further into his hood. I shook him again, that time with enough force to almost pull him off his hammock and he rose from it, hands clamped over the rope to steady himself and drew out a heavy breath. He forced the corners of his hood down and glared in the direction of my spell before he cast a hand out in an attempt to shield it.

"Fenedhis," he cursed with words heavy from slumber.

It was the ice in my voice that got him to focus. "Get everyone up, now."

"Is something-" he began, head tilted in frustrated confusion, only for his words to falter when he glimpsed at the cabin and the abundant loss of human life inside. It was quickly after that he spied the water and frowned.

The others woke to being forced out of their hammocks without being warned about it. Many landed in a splash of water, groaning and muttering to themselves. Jaras managed to latch onto the ropes before he fell and stared at the dull pool as if it was some foreign thing to him.

"W-what's goin' on?" sputtered Dugan, his body half-hunched in the water. When he yanked his arms free from it, rivulets trickled down his sleeves.

I took to grasping my satchel from the ceiling beam and tied the leather belt of my outer cloak to my waist. "Everyone's gone."

Solas, his knees submerged, dragged his legs through the shallow pool to the cabin's parted door, skimming the cabin's beams when he did so, and looked up. "It seems everyone has moved to the upper deck. Come, we must hurry."

Varric cursed at heaving his crossbow, Bianca, from the water and having noticed that it had gained some slight discolour, aimed down its sight and pulled the trigger mechanism. The spring came loose and he cursed again. "See?" he said in gesture of his crossbow, the wooden frame drenched and dripping. "I told you this was a floating death-trap. Did anyone listen to me? No. Now see what we've got ourselves into."

Jaras slowly picked up his swords and stared down at his rippled reflection in the water. Brown eyes widened and he pulled back from it to pace from one end of the cabin to the other, gripping his head as he did so. "Damn ship. Damn shemlen. Damn everything. Andruil's great bow, we can't be sinking. We're not sinking, right, lad?"

"Calm down, Quick-fingers," said Varric. "I've been in enough situations like this to know we'll get out of this somehow. It's just the fact that I keep getting into these situations that concerns me. I'm too old for this shit."

"And I'm not?"

"Well, there's a first time for everything." At the elvhen's widened stare, Varric sighed. "Look, you freaking out isn't going to do anyone any good, is it?" Jaras shook his head. "Exactly. Now, get your swords and your things just in case. You're going to be alright."

Dugan hoisted the heavy chainmail from beneath his duster over one shoulder and then snickered at Varric's words. "Good one, surface-dweller. Give the long-ear false hope before the eventual founder of the ship. Good and noble of ya."

Varric scowled at him. "That's not going to happen, Crazy."

"Oh, it ain't, is it? Think of it like this." The chainmail dropped from his shoulders in a display of rattling metal and landed in a heavy splash, flecking muddy water into the older dwarf's wrinkled face and monocle. Dugan grumbled and shook his beard to be rid of it. "This ship's heavy. There's water in the hold. Risin' water. We're gonna go down like wood carryin' a stone as a bottom, like any anchor, now that I think of it."

Jaras flinched. "Lad!"

"I'm only tellin' the truth, long-ear!"

The water quivered upon turning around. I glared darkly at every one of them. "That's enough!" The yell was loud enough for their mouths to shut and heads to veer. "We're going up to the quarter deck and we're going to see what's happening out there. Jaras, the ship is not going down so there is no need to worry. Varric and Dugan, please try not to argue. Right now we need to find Cole and Ryleth. You think you can all do this?"

Everyone nodded in silent agreement.

I let out a heavy sigh, one that clouded in the damp air, and turned to Solas whom patiently waited by the door, a hand rested on the wooden frame and the other clasped around the middle of his staff. "Good. Solas, lead the way."

The elvhen gave a slight dip of his head and left to lead us through the dark space of the hold, devoid of all life but full with the sounds above.

The commotion on the upper deck was far worse than we feared. A crack of thunder came from the north. The heavens sparked white. Rain hit our backs in a drenching downpour.

The sea was black, riled with grey foam when it swelled and it spat when the waves crashed into the vessel's arched timber. The ocean reared behind the Lust of the East, lifted the stern in a surge and lunged the hull forward. It was then that another wave crashed into it and sent the ship jerking.

"All hands on deck!" the call of Ryleth came about. "This' going to be a rough ride, my friends. Hold onto the ship. She's in for a lot of bruising."

The hatches were battered down. The sailors went skyward to reel in sails before the wind took them, only they reeled them in too late. The storm had already hit. Knowing we had to do something or else the ship would capsize, each one of us took to different areas of the ship, helping the sailors in preparing for the worst. Solas and I used our magic to freeze the more fragile areas that were more likely to break. The others turned to help those of the crew that were injured into getting below deck. Upon freezing part of the ship's railing I caught sight of Cole, a sailor's arm rested around his neck. The sailor limped and seemed injured. Cole gave me a slight smile before he vanished from the crowd of men that scurried past.

All around was the sound of shattering wood and shouting men. Ropes snapped. Planks were torn in the process. Water swallowed decks and the vessel's sails swelled and tore from their masts, whipping the deck in all directions and slapping many over the edge. From the lookout, a sailor hung by the arm, only for the rope to snap and for his body to be flung from the ship, too far into the darkness of the storm to be found.

I was almost done with mending part of the bow's side when there was a crack, similar to that of a fallen branch or shattered bone. Above, the fore boom tipped from the growing gap between it and the mast.

"Lahris!" came a cry, thick with fear. It was useless. Oblivious, I was, to the boom's break from the foremast, and only did I turn upon its cry of thunder.

That was when I felt my feet slip - my body propelled back. The damp wood of the deck hit like a stone road and yet wanting to writhe and scream out in reaction to the pain was not an option. A heavy force held me down, kept my body still with the weight of its own. The fore boom flashed past in a dark streak. The deck shook on its hit.

Against the wood my fingers gripped onto the soaked wool, knowing all too well who held me in place. Solas' chest rose and fell with every frosted breath while his jaw clenched at the ship's low rumble. His body shivered, the complexion cold and pale against the dark.

He remained still until he was sure that the fore boom was no longer a threat. A quick glance up confirmed it. Not waiting for another chance, the elvhen grasped my shoulder and hauled us from the deck using the foremast as a support.

"We must go below deck, quickly!" he yelled far above the clap of thunder and thrashing waves.

The Lust of the East leapt from left to right, forward and back and all points in between. Men stumbled trying to get to their stations and many ended up over the ship's edge, lost in the vast ocean. We hurtled from post to post. The hatch to the lower deck was just out of reach.

But then Solas' hand caught mine and our bodies were thrust back.

The ship jerked, sudden, swift and hard. The force was enough to send us both staggering back, up and over the cleft banister. My cries ended as swift as they came. A great flush of cold salted water compressed the skin, swept through the clothes and up into the nostrils and ears, drowning out all sounds but the deep, vast echo of the ocean under the waves.

I was lured by the element, tempted to reach the surface but unable to do so by its binding hold. It forced me to near the end of my immorality by keeping me in its gentle undertow, away from the air I so desperately craved. Light shimmered from above while a short way from it towered the looming shadow of the ship, another tease in the ocean's slow torment. Beneath the vessel dotted the mottle of blacks, greys and browns - remnants of its parts torn asunder. Past me the bodies of sailors sank into the depths below, eyes wide in death and wisps of red pouring from their wounds.

Though aware, something about me did not care for them as though what I saw was simply an illusion, easily ignored and not reality.

For some reason my thoughts drifted back to the past. I thought of my family. I thought of my father, his face when he smiled down at me when he first announced me to the courts and spoke of my progression in magic. For him, it was something to be prideful of. I thought of my mother, her eyes sad in those rare moments when she thought no one was looking and of my brother, who lay against our tree near Virellin and who told me stories of his times away from court. I thought of all those gone from the world, those I had lost, forgotten. A small part of me considered the God, of how he must have thought of me and how my life was going to end in the silence of the depths instead of someone else's choosing.

It was cruel irony to end in such a peaceful way without pain, even with the sins tied to my chest as an anchor. Perhaps it was a mercy.

_I was to die._ The thought struck dread deep into my being, something that sharpened my awareness to a keen point. I clutched onto that dread, unwilling to part with it. I kicked and spread my arms up, shedding my cloak in the process of drawing to the surface. The water broke upon my hands breeching the air and I gasped, long and hard, willing as much air into my lungs as possible before being pulled under once more. Again, I clawed back to the surface and stared in shock at the expanse of sea without a trace of a ship. The Lust of the East was gone.

A piece of broken bow drifted not far away. I grasped for it and forced myself over its edge, just enough to skim the water. Cold, wet and with the sharp drops of rain hitting my body like hail, I coughed and uttered, "Solas."

The black waters were jerking and bare with no hint of a body in sight. Fear clutched my chest, stilled my breath and sent my fingers digging into the wooden plank so hard that there was no mistaking the broken nails, quickly stricken with blood.

No. No, no, no.

"Solas? Solas... ne mara!" _Solas, I cannot find you._

I called out, again and again until my voice went raspy and dry. I hoped to Dirthamen, I pleaded with him to let what I saw be an illusion. Solas could not be dead. It was when I began to fear the worst that the familiar form of the elvhen came from the water, just drifting without a way to go.

I called his name once more and he turned. There was noticeable relief on his face.

Solas struggled against the current and barely managed to catch the edge of the plank. His chest rose and fell when he hauled himself onto the hard wood and gasped ragged breaths that sent his body shaking.

"Lahris-" he groaned and wiped a red smear of blood from his lips. It was not long before his face contorted in pain.

Desperately groping fingers tangled themselves in his robe and I pulled him further up the plank. I drew myself close to him in a desperate attempt to try and gain some matter of warmth and dull the constant shivers between the both of us.

"The ship..." he coughed, his breath shaken and heavy. "Where... we must..."

It was then that his eyes drifted shut.

The last to be seen was the Lust of the East's distant form amongst the thrash of waves before the force of the ocean slapped us under, swallowing us into its depths.

...

_Thanks to fried nuggets for commenting, good luck on your exams too, and thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying the story so far!_  
_Things have gotten intense in this chapter :) I had some free time to spare and thought on writing another chapter and now here it is. The other should be longer then this and will be more interesting._  
_Again thanks to everyone and the next chapter should hopefully be up soon if exams don't get in the way :)_


	26. What Must Be Done

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty Six: What Must Be Done  


Ochre was the first to appear in the day, first as a tiny, gleaming point that swiftly became a bright, blinding blaze. It seared through the flutter of weary eyelids like fire upon a frozen sheet of winter ice and continuously flickered to black for a long period of time, until the ochre sundered from the grey and rifts of blue into a bleak horizon speckled black with the thin forms of gulls. At every turn and tilt the gulls cut through the sky, casting their shadows across the pale land of sand as dancing, shifting wings, never still.

The land around was a white islet with a leaden sea arched around the shoreline. Masses of towering dunes hemmed the inland, their tips layering the air in white upon every breath of cool wind, while beyond lay the dark, jagged crests of a forest that seemingly stretched on for ages - the end nowhere to be seen.

As I lay on the shore, arms stretched above my head as well as tangled in the clusters of wet, knotted hair, legs splayed lifelessly across the broken timber wreckage, the few parts of exposed skin bathed in the sun's warm rays and having no choice but to stare weakly into the sky, the sight of the world around slowly fleeted as the events of the night began to unfold.

The Lust of the East was gone. Her crewmen and my companions lost with it.

The hazy visions of floating timber: pieces of bow stripped from the Lust of the East, her deck laid waste to sea water as well as a shattered mast; the tumbling clashes of murky waves, stricken by bolts of white in black cloud; the struggle of clawing water, only for it to run free through wide-spread fingers and for the small, barely intact wreckage, the only haven Solas and I had, to dip and be swallowed whole by what could only have been a divine's will, were what brought my thoughts to the present.

There was no telling where I was or how far the ocean had taken both the wreckage and I from course, and yet wherever the strange land I found myself lying upon was, the most important thing was that I was alive. Cold, pained and weak, but alive.

The air was ridden with the salty tang of the sea while the ocean's waves lightly lapped at the ruined leather of my boots, the soles beyond damp, and curled around the tips and buckles, only to retreat after a moment, leaving both damp sand and white foam in its wake. That was until it was taken anew by another wave, whiter and clearer than the last.

Solas lay nearby, still on his back with the ends of his robe stretched out over the sand, crinkled and torn in places. His eyes were closed, while the sharp-angles of his face were kept hidden beneath the draping of his soaked hood. The only indications of life were the light rise and fall of his chest, the slight twitch in his sand-sunken fingertips and a distant murmur, barely heard over the shrieking of gulls and beating wings.

In an attempt to sit, my arm latched onto my side and lips parted in a shallow gasp. Before it was registered, my back was pressed against the solid wood of the wreckage with a heavy crack. Pain flared my side, pricking like thorns in the bottom of a boot, unwilling to subside. Slow, careful fingers undid the knot in my belt, fumbled to pull it free from my body and then plucked at the rip in the gown. Beneath the cotton, just underneath my ribs, lay a swelling of deep violet, pale blue and green – bruised but not cut. It spread across most of my stomach and chest, only to ghost the pale indent of the scar given by Despair in the Temple of Dirthamen. At least it was healed, only needing time for it to fade, and the bruising would also be healed eventually. It would not be much of a hinder so long as I was careful.

Overhearing the elvhen's quiet groan, his body wriggling against his clothing, I forced my belt back into place, tightened the grip around my side and forced my knees to hold my body up while my other free arm steadied me. I crawled to the elvhen, slow but steady while my legs, entangled in my gown's end, left a meandering trail behind.

Figments of splintered oak stabbed the sand around him, occasionally snagging the ends of my gown, quickly drawn in by the material. By the time I had reached Solas, his hood had tipped back to show the hint of resting eyes and a pale complexion, his fingers only twitching by the shivers that coursed through his body. His chapped lips were parted, inhaling and exhaling quiet breaths that were too faint for comfort.

"Solas," I breathed and reached out to lightly tug the edges of his hood back behind pointed ears.

His skin was too cool to touch, too much like ice. With a bitten lip, I shook his shoulder. Nothing happened.

"Solas."

Nothing.

Dread latched onto my chest, keen and strong. It forced my fingers to grasp the back of his neck and shake, again and again in the hope that something would happen. When nothing did, my lips curled back and fingers left his skin all too quickly.

_Curses, Solas. _

Whether he was in the Fade or simply unconscious, I was not sure. What I did know was that waking him was no easy task.

Knowing there was only one other option, I drew my fingers in to crease the exposed flesh of the elvhen's shoulder and allowed my magic to seep into my nails. The tips glowed faintly in the daylight, clear like freshly wiped glass, as keen in point as any needle. Skin speckled in a light coat of frost. Upon rubbing my fingers together, the frost drifted down to catch the sand. Then, in a quick motion, the nails were jabbed into his shoulder.

Solas woke with a start, hands clutching the sand and eyes far more wild than thought possible. He swiftly touched the marks in his skin, only to draw back at the light trickle of blood. It was not a deep wound but it served its purpose. He was awake, alert from expecting peril when there was none and without a word his eyes found mine, bloodshot beneath blackened sockets. Chapped lips pursed in confusion, ready to question why the action was needed when he drew his head back and looked at the world in a newfound quietness.

The sand, the ocean, the sky and pale dunes. All were a new sight he had not expected to wake to.

Thin brows creased in confusion and gently, the apostate's gaze scanned the horizon, only to narrow on the sight of the wreckage left partly buried. "Interesting," he whispered, throat raw and dry from being forced to inhale sea water when we were first left adrift.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

He winced at the marks in his shoulder, then peered down at his left thigh. Massaging it with his hands, he briefly answered, "I have fared worse," and staggered to his feet. Trembling fingers grasped the carven staff left discarded, propelled it point-first into the ground and forced himself up, only for his legs to stumble until his back straightened.

Slightly humoured at the sight, a sight that was so far from the composed self he projected onto others, I said softly, "So, from the scale of tea to a broken bone, which would best describe you?"

Despite the situation, the elvhen smirked, a small, light smirk that didn't quite reach the base of his sharp cheeks. "I see your sense of humour has remained intact."

Nodding, I allowed the elvhen to help me to my feet and steady my aching legs. "Someone has to. I've been through a lot worse than this. I… cannot think of much right now but give me time and I am sure I can come up with something."

His smirk fell, replaced by a concerned frown. "You are hurt?"

"Just on my side. It's bruised. I'll be fine."

"Allow me to check-"

Upon him reaching out, I pushed his hands back. "No, Solas, there's no need to bother. Save your strength. You may need it."

"There would be no point in saving my strength if you fall along the way."

I gave out a weak laugh that quickly ended in a spluttering wrack of coughs. "If I fall, you'll be there to catch me."

His lips set in a firm line, but knowing that I was more stubborn than rational at that point, something I was aware of but chose not to react on, he said, "Evidently so," and turned to observe the forest beyond the sand dunes.

Branches rustled faintly in reaction to the wind. The askew crest of the forest jostled and swayed, back and forth. Both our skins pricked at the wind's touch.

"Your belongings," Solas said. "You still have your satchel, correct?"

I nodded.

"We need to get out of these wet clothes, perhaps find a place to camp for a time." He took one step out. The grumble in his stomach got him to pause mid-stride. "And find food."

At my stomach's own low growl, I could only agree.

Together, we gathered the most salvageable of our belongings and set out to venture from the shore. Our journey took us past the towering sand dunes and into the soft curve of the forest. Our steps threaded through bulky elms, ash and alders, scattered rock inclines and shallow streams, down to the thicker, much more overgrown patches of forest with vines and roots tangled in a way that made it difficult to decipher which was ground and which was plant, meshing in knotted patches, suggesting that the likelihood of meeting another living person, be it either elf, dwarf or human, something other than an animal or tree was unlikely. The tightly-knit trunks aided in relieving pressure from my side, allowing me to stagger from one gnarled ash or elm to the other without much pain, while Solas often scouted ahead in order to get a better understanding of the forest.

He tried to conceal the aching in his limbs, mostly by taking smaller strides than usual and leaning against his staff when the opportunity to stay in one place for a time arrived. His hood remained pulled over his face, dulling the light from his eyes but also leaving his face partly in shadow.

Come mid-eve, our bodies were more than tired; our bones ached more than when we first began our wander.

"This forest seems to have no end," I said upon falling back against an alder trunk, unable to walk much further without my feet bleeding. Perhaps they already were.

Solas turned back from the forest and rested one side of his body against his staff. Beads of sweat left faint trails as they slid down his sand-stricken cheeks and forehead. "Are you alright, Da'len?"

I gave a weary nod. "Just tired."

He observed the expanse of woodland around us, having noticed that it was wider than the other parts we had seen and provided plenty of cover from the sun. The trees walled part of the land to the west whilst to the eastern side stood what could only have been a rocked face, strong and layered in moss and climbing roots.

"Perhaps we should camp here for the evening, until we regain our strength."

A gasp - dry and desperate - echoed over the sound of rustling boughs and before it was recognised as my own, the ground hit my knees. One hand swiftly clutched the bruised side of my stomach while the other clawed at the leaf and thorn debris in an attempt to soften some of the discomfort.

Solas was at my side in an instant, nimble fingers having quickly passed through the material of my gown to the rip where the wound was, bulged and swollen. Upon the sight of deepened purple, the apostate gave out a sharp curse. "Why did you not tell me about this?"

His nail lightly scratched the wound and I bit down a yelp before retreating slightly from his touch. "It is nothing to worry about. I am... perfectly... fine."

Solas' jaw set dangerously firm while his fingertips ghosted the swollen skin again, lighter and more delicate than before, in quiet observation. "Lies do not suit you."

A grin, fleeting and impish, lit my face in a half attempt to settle his worry. "Strange, they usually do. I must be worse than I thought." At his quietness, a sense of uncertainty struck my chest. "I didn't want you to worry. I've been through worse than this."

"The severity of the injury is not yours to judge, Lahris." It was difficult to not wince at the use of my name instead of 'Da'len' or 'lethallan'. It made his chastise only the more personal. "You shouldn't have been walking around with this at your side. I can only imagine how much it has been made worse due to your lack of concern."

Ever defiant, I forced myself from the elvhen's warm touch and backed further into the trunk, unable to meet his eye. "It is not as bad as it looks."

"You collapsed!" he all but shouted and quickly placed a clasped hand over my forehead, only for another curse to befall his lips. "You're colder than usual, mostly likely due to the lack of dry clothes. It will only worsen your condition. The last thing we need is for you to fall ill, considering our lack of supplies and your lack of immunity to it." Solas took one quick glimpse around the circle of trees before a decision was made. "We will stop here to camp. You are not to move until I say, understood?"

"I am not some child you can order about, Solas."

"And yet you continue to act like one, _Da'len,_" he said, hiding his irritation poorly. I frowned but said nothing. "You are no fool. Even you must know the severity of this. I will not risk the wound worsening, especially more than what has already been done. You will stay here and not move until I return."

Having a say in the matter did not seem to be on the elvhen's mind for once he steadied himself with his staff and made a quick survey of the small glade, he left into the cluster of tall elms without a say as to when he would return, leaving me alone with little more than the forest for company.

...

An hour had passed and the elvhen had not been seen since. During that time, sunlight had fled from the sky to the farthest corner in the distance, darkening the forest to a near-black grey that caused the tall shadows of elms to claw the ground, ready to snatch the last rays of sunlight before twilight deepened into nightfall, when the moon and stars would come out through the crossing leaves above in a proud display across a black sky.

To most, the dark would have been a discomfort, a place were fears took form to deprive sleep from the weary and paranoid, but to me it was a comfort and a remembrance of more pleasant times. In the night, it was simple to hide away. Not much effort was needed in concealing one's self from the world and the only danger was what nature subjected someone to. Nature was more dangerous in the day than the night anyway. Wolves, bears, even bandits were easily recognisable in the light, meaning so was I to them, but in the dark, I needed only to keep quiet for an hour and the perils would fade away as if they never existed. The daytime was also always so busy and full of life eight thousand years ago, while the night was when the nobles in the high courts in Elvhenan usually slept, leaving nothing but peace and tranquility. There were many times when I secretly left the safety of Virellen's walls to journey into the forest, simply for the silence and comfort in mind it brought.

But that was a long time ago.

Tucked in the nook of an alder tree, I lay still and waited for the inevitable rustle and crackling of dry leaves to indicate Solas had returned. After a few moments had passed, I turned to unseal the laces of a satchel brought from Skyhold and peered inside to see how many of the supplies were actually salvaged and useable.

It was a pity. Out of the many objects I had brought, only a few could be taken from the coast.

The Dalish blade Keeper Athrion had given to me.  
A water skin - only half full.  
Three small canvases of wet meat and bread.  
A pouch full of juniper berries.  
A tome, too ruined from the sea voyage to be of any use.  
A dry shirt and gown.  
A bedroll and fur blanket.

And finally the shard.

Out of all, the shard demanded my focus and my focus it was given entirely.

It was taken gently from the base of the satchel and positioned between two palms - the leather cover being the only thing separating it from my skin.

It was glowing, so soft that if it was not already dark then it would have been mistaken for a pale imitation of reflected light. There was something different about it, something that did not make it unsettling. Instead of feeling fear from it, the innate feeling born from its presence, there was a warm aura, a sense that brought with it comfort, safety and a feeling of nostalgia, like there was a loss there but the loss was something that wasn't quite understandable. It caused fingertips to tingle and gave warmth to the deepest part of the chest.

A part of me, one that knew the impact and affects the shard had had on people for some time, wished nothing more than to cast it aside. Another, stronger willed part that did not belong to reasoning wished to keep it close, to explore its deepest meanings and solve the secrets that seemed to consume it.

The shard was tilted upon its side and then back. A question tugged at my lips. "What are you?"

As if in answer, the shard's pale hue dimmed to show a circling star in the center of the glass surface, silver and twinkling like bejewelled grains of sand amongst the dull violet shell it was encased in. It shimmered in silence, seemingly unaware of the worries and pain that it had caused, until a hum resonated from it, one that mimicked a song that was both familiar and soothing. Solas had speculated that inside the shard was the spirit of compassion, a spirit that had saved me within the Temple of Dirthamen. For a time I believed that he was correct, but hearing the tune only turned the speculation into a confirmation.

"Spirit," I whispered into the night. "You have been with me for so long and yet I know so little about you. I thought you were a curse, something I had taken that simply wished to be my downfall, perhaps you are a curse, but you have helped me. You saved my life back in Dirthamen's temple. You saved my friends from an uncertain fate when Despair had us. What I do not understand is why."

Moments passed and there was no answer.

I tried again. "Spirits are supposed to help the living, aren't they? Maybe that was why you helped. You saw my pain in the temple, saw what my former master had done and wished to cease the suffering. In doing so, you caused my magic to freeze my body until the wound was healed and so saved my life. But now the power you offer is taking control. I do not understand. What purpose does that play? Are you trying to take me over, to possess me like demons do?"

In its present state it was incapable of spoken words. Instead, the star's floating changed direction from circling in an aimless manner to hitting certain points of the shard. At first, its movements were slow, but then it glided across the shard so fast that it was almost impossible to keep up with. The frantic action shook the shard and almost flung it from my palms. It was only when the shard's glow grew and the star's gliding ceased that I realised.

It was trapped inside.

A prisoner, just as I was to it - two souls bound without consent for a purpose neither one of us knew and, sadly, it seemed that I held the promising hand. If Solas was correct, the spirit's power was being absorbed into my body at a slow pace. That meant that eventually the spirit would cease to be. It probably did not even wish to give itself over willingly but had little choice.

Guilt was nothing compared to what emotions swirled within. All that time and I thought the spirit was a curse, a pain that would eventually consume me when in actual fact, I was consuming it. I was merely a host for the spirit's power and the spirit was slowly deteriorating.

"I... I am sorry for what happened to you."

As if in understanding, the spirit returned to its idle circling in the shard. The light trail that came off the star lingered in fine lines like moon dust, forming letters and then words. Once the spirit was finished with the words, it stilled in one place until the trail had faded.

"As I am to you," it had said.

That answer alone led to more questions but the time for questions seemed to have passed. Something new had peeked from the forest, something connected to the shard and I.

Upon the eastern side of the glade were the rock face stood proud and tall, roots crawled out from the surface like spider legs to show a weathered mural, painted green in the shape of a bear with two crows on either side of its head, one with its beak and talons raised and the other with its beak and talons low as if in submission.

For some unknown reason, my body acted as if on impulse, driven to the mural even when the wound in my side was beyond tender. On nearing it, lines engraved beneath the mural came to life in the shape of a half-raindrop, shining emerald while dismissing the mural all together.

The black scars veined along my skin lit as the shard did, violet and bright like a beacon in the midst of evenfall, withdrawing the shadows from the rock face and forest floor. A fennec stilled near a patch of tall grass, its ears twitched, and then it scampered off into the forest as if it instinctively knew what would happen next.

A hand reached out while the other clutched the shard protectively. The newly formed symbol beckoned. It called. It drew on the black scars as if they were ropes, tugging and pulling without restraint. The scars were made to answer the symbol's call and answer I did.

At the symbol's icy touch, my sight flashed to a place smothered in a veil of pale mist, similar to the last Fade dream controlled by my former master, only that the place was not poisoned by Varhel's touch, but was by others. I could sense them lurking within the mist, faint shadows that did not linger for long before fading into another area. Whispers reached out from different minds and different bodies, all connected to the place of mist.

One by one the whispers grew in unison until one spoke out to silence the others.

"Garas quenathra," it said, over and over again as if a ritual. _Why are you here? Why have you come?_

"Ghilan'him banal'vhen," whispered another, only to be silenced by the original's sharp cry. _The path that leads astray._

"Could it be?" the original asked. "Garas. Come. She is here. The one that is bound."

One by one the shadows stepped out from the mist. It was then that I noticed the tangles of light binding us to one another and the smoking orb above our heads were all the lines of light connected to.

_Just as I saw in my mind during Solas' lesson, _I thought. The lines connected to others that were touched by Varhel's shards. That could only have meant that they had awakened and were close.

Out of the shadows, the elvhen appeared as eerie cloaked figures wearing violet eyes. There were seven in total.

The original speaker was simple to identify by the black staff he carried. The others were weaponless. "You are the Asha'dirthara - the woman who seeks the truth."

Unsure of what to say, I kept my mouth shut.

That seemed to anger the original. "Silence! Silence is all we hear. Over and over in this place. Silence. That is all. You are She! The Asha'dirthara. We were told of your coming. Have known. Known so, so long."

One of the cloaked stepped forward. "Traitor," she shrieked so loud that even the mist shuddered at her call. "Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. She kills. Brothers, sisters, dead. Her fault."

"Our master keeps us out," said another. "Keeps us here. Bound. Silent. We cannot take it. Wish to be free of this calling. Free like you-"

"Enough!" the original roared. His staff hit the ground with heavy clang, as if the floor was made of metal instead of a smoky screen. The other cloaked elvhen slipped back into the mist without question. He, on the other hand, strolled forward while the tails of his robes flared, and it took all the strength in me not to step back, raise my hands and cast a ward to prevent him from taking another step forward.

"You are She who worships the bear," he said with firm conviction. "You are She who wishes knowledge. We have it. Come, Asha'dirthara, spirit of journey. Find your truth. We will wait until your return to us."

It was then that the cloaked elvhen retreated into the mist. The mist swirled with renew vigor and twisted into a slate of reflective glass that showed a temple known all too well in its former glory. Mountain-tall towers were displayed gleaming endlessly from their gold pinnacles, while crystal spires shaded the deep waters of the temple's falls. Stone statues seemingly crafted out of the sturdiest rock and blended with runes sung with untold magic, while the vision of underground chambers, isolated but not abandoned, were filled with light from the tall, vibrant glass-panes depicting the elvhen pantheon. The visions of the holy temple retreated into what only a bird could see, looking down upon it as if from a god's view. The pinnacle's gold began to rust and darken. The panels from the roofs cracked and fell into the waterfalls. The stone became moss-ridden, stark and adorned by nature, while the chambers twisted into dust-ridden tombs. All that splendor, all of the elvhen's former glory was gone before my very eyes.

A tear quietly fell down my cheek. Though a few of my memories were poor in that place, it was more of a second home for the past century of my life than anywhere else when under Varhel's supremacy. It was the place where I first met Elder Sa'bellanar before I knew who he truly was. It was a place where we spent a great deal of our time in the vast libraries, keeping away from my former master and trying to keep my life as normal as possible. I had walked through the halls as someone of importance. I knew every corridor, every tower and throne. It was as familiar to me as elemental magic was, and just like everything else, it had worn away to nearly nothing.

"Come home, Asha'dirthara," said the original elvhen before the mist dissipated into the waking, physical world. "Know the truth before it is too late."

The waking world returned with enough force to rival a physical slap across the face. Before I could comprehend what had happened, the emerald symbol had vanished from the wall completely and the roots began to tangle over the bear and crow mural. I fell back against an alder tree, shivering and afraid at what I had experienced. That was until I saw the shard clutched painfully in hand. The star within continually circled and did not disappear. The spirit seemed undisturbed inside, as if what I saw was meant to happen, or was merely the beginning.

After the experience, it was not long before Solas had appeared under a cluster of tall elms, assembling the last withered branches from the earth as if a ritual done hundreds upon thousands of times previous, intent and purpose etched into every wrinkle of his ever-creasing brows. He then bound the branches together, placed them on a patch of tall grass and cast a quiet spell. The branches caught flame in a matter of heartbeats.

There no questions shared between us: no asking where he had been and why he had taken over an hour to wander. Collecting branches and tree roots could not have been all that he had been doing. Perhaps he went further into the forest to see if he could determine where in Thedas we were, though judging by what the vision showed me, it could only be presumed that we were in fact in the Planasene Forest, exactly where we hoped to journey to. It seemed fate had decided that I would indeed meet the past after all. How the Gods were cruel.

However, likewise there was no need to share what had happened with the shard. It would only lead to worry or perhaps kindle the spark of interest Solas seemed to have whenever something out of the ordinary happened. It may also have encouraged him to follow me in my journey and that was something that could no longer happen.

When the last of the light faded into the west, darkening the forest to almost the purest pitch of black with only the light of beady, dilated eyes to peer through hollow trunks, we took rest in the nameless glade while the forest lay still and quiet save for the faint symphony of crickets and owls.

A cold wind whispered through the elms, stirring the damp clothes hung over branches in the far corners of the camp, while we lay cross-legged beneath several fur blankets in the hope of retaining some form of heat before the peak of nightfall.

Fortunately, the warmth of the small fire met the furs quickly, while the flames blazed high into the night. Every so often my gaze would linger on the rock formation opposite the camp and though the shadows of the fire danced along the roots, I could not help but contemplate the symbol engraved into it and what the voices of its spell had said.

The other elvhen lay close beside me and gazed so deep into the flames that there may not have been anything else in the world but he and it. Unable to get comfortable from the alder's rough-bark digging into my back, I huddled into the nearest body and rested my head upon his bare shoulder.

Solas looked down from the fire in surprise, brows quirked, before he let out a quiet sigh and carefully pressed me to him with a strong arm.

"Cold?" he mused.

"Tired," I mumbled into his shoulder. "Uncomfortable."

"I'm afraid we do not have the luxury of beds or a roof over our heads for this night, Da'len."

"A shame."

"That it is."

As the night pressed on and the quietness between us lingered, I pulled the furs tight to my body and whispered, "Do you think Assan will be alright?"

"Your horse?" he asked upon drawing in a slow, even breath of air, mingled with the smells of ash and wet earth that surrounded the camp. He leaned further into the alder tree and bent his head back to look heavenward. Then, he turned his pale gaze back down after a brief pause without lowering his chin.

Old grass flattened at my uncomfortable shift in position. "Do you think he is alive? Do you think the others on the ship are too?"

"There is a possibility." Knowing he did not fully ease the fear, Solas cleared the dryness from his throat and said, "We did not see the ship go down. There is a firm chance that it did not and is still afloat."

"I suppose. I hope so." I turned my gaze away from the flickering flames to the auburn leaf held beneath a bare foot. Its crinkled leaves curled between my toes, cracked when it was rubbed into the dirt and then snapped into flaky pieces that speckled the earth.

Solas stared through the dark for the better half of five heartbeats, face creased in a frown. "Da'len," he began, lips taut, "is there anything you wish to tell me?"

Surprised by his question, I looked up to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry?"

"It is nothing to prompt concern. You simply look... troubled."

"We're in a place we do not know and you're saying I look troubled? I'm surprised you aren't yourself, falon."

"That may be true, but you have not been acting like yourself since my return." The elvhen leaned forward from the alder. The firelight danced across his pale features and somehow revealed his concern all the more. "You continued to hinder my efforts in helping you. Your wound needed tending and I just barely managed to heal the worst of it before you covered it over and refused treatment. What I do not understand is why."

"You were taking too long. I could do it myself."

"We both know you couldn't."

A sigh escaped my lips. I lifted my head from his shoulder and settled to pull my legs close to my chest. The fur pelt slid off one shoulder but was quickly tugged back into place. Quietly, I uttered, "I'm not weak."

Solas' gaze lifted from my shoulder to my face and narrowed in confusion. "I never said you were."

"Maybe not but I felt so with your help."

His head dipped. "I'm not sure I understand."

The memory of Varhel's voice thrummed through my mind as an unending chant, his words just as venomous as his mouth and sharp tongue were. I repeated them with perfect clarity just as he had spoken them to me once. "Weakness is a poison. It festers. It kills. It only takes something small for it to affect you completely. A limp. An ache in a joint. A wince at the wrong moment. A hesitation. It all can show weakness and weakness can be exploited."

"Your former master taught you this, I presume," Solas said, his voice ice itself.

"It is what I learned. The first decade under Varhel's service I learned that weakness was something that would get me killed. Varhel made sure that any weakness I had was either born from him or left so deep inside myself that it would never see the light of day. My family was the first. They were..."

Words ceased - lost from the tip of my tongue as thoughts and memories surfaced from a place within my mind I had thought forgotten. The shapes of my father, mother and brother smiled down from the darkness of the glade as if they were part of reality. Behind them were childhood memories, memories of practicing spells with my father, of wandering through the streets with my mother, of finding hidden places with my brother and more. They stood so close and clear that all that was needed was to extend a hand out to them and I could fall into their embrace without a care in the world. But move I did not. My body remained at Solas' side and refrained from allowing my memories to take over.

After a slow, shaky breath was taken, I cleared the sourness from my throat and continued. "_He _took them from me. Then there was my position as a vhen'solas, a person of pride, or noblewoman. Instead of someone with importance and a mind, I was used as a title. Nothing more than a puppet bent to his will. Then there was showing pity for someone who wronged him. Any pity led to punishment, like the scars on my cheek and jaw. Showing true compassion or concern for another meant putting them at risk, so I learned to keep away from others, but sometimes that was difficult to do. Injury meant that an opponent could get the upper hand, defeat me, perhaps kill me. Varhel taught me to keep my true emotions hidden and said that fake emotions were a better use for manipulation. He also taught me how to read others, to get an idea if they were lying or not. I admit, I was merely an apprentice by the time I freed myself from him, was not even to the same standard as some of his sentinels, and yet I was everything he wanted when he got me and I played his game like a bird doing a trick for its master."

"I would often gain information from rivals in court. Nothing too serious, I suppose. Sometimes I was tasked to break into a rival's home, their chamber, anywhere so long as information was found that Varhel could use to his advantage. Sometimes..."

Solas patiently waited for the rest, only when nothing else was said, he prompted me further with a small, "Go on."

Another deep breath was taken to steady the tremble that fought to affect my voice, that fought to show Solas that there were emotions buried deep down that wished to spill just as any dam preventing a river forming did. "Sometimes I was made to silence a servant or two that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes that task led to silencing those of a higher lineage. Sometimes those elvhen were once family friends. Sometimes they were very close friends, but Varhel loved turning me against those I once knew. It doesn't matter now though. I'm free from him and I shouldn't presume that you were going to hurt me. I guess hard habits die hard."

For a moment Solas said nothing, merely sat with his back to the alder tree, the fur pelt rested in a crinkled mess around his waist and his head bowed low, as though he was concentrating on the hands in his lap, but his focus was inward, thinking and feeling things that were just not clear to those who looked upon him. Still was his body, blank was his expression. To identify his thoughts, to even put an emotion to those thoughts, was unachievable.

And then all of a sudden, without forewarning, his long fingers reached out to lightly stroke the low, curved bone of my cheek. A stray tear was wiped away with the graze of his thumb and then it gently curved to catch the reddened skin of my lip. It seemed that action alone could steal one's breath away and leave them without a train of thought or words, since that was how I was, only able to focus on how close his body was to mine and the breath that was near shared. That was until his thumb slipped down to rest beneath the point of my chin and his eyes returned to meet mine, twin pools of blue to green, bright and speckling amber from the fire's vibrant flames.

"You will never have to fear me," he said with a voice barely louder than a breath in the night, yet it was spoken so confidently that it was nearly believed to be true. How I wished it to be true. Surely some part must have been true, for my heart thudded with passion, with hope at the possibility of no longer needing to be cautious around those who dared to call themselves friends like a wild fennec to any other beast in the forest, to not have to keep so many secrets and to be able to fully open to someone who I could call trustworthy. When a dark, stray hair was tucked back behind a pointed ear, he asked in a low tone, "How long?"

It was a difficult thing to look away from the sight of the elvhen's parted lips, silent in drawing in long breaths and clouding the air with every exhale. There was a wonder on how those lips, chapped but still inviting, would feel against my own, yet I blinked away the thought at realising he had asked a question and tried to focus on it. "Ir abelas, how long-?"

"How long did he make you do this?"

"Fifty years, give or take a decade."

Solas regarded that calmly, head slightly drawn back. "And this place in the Planasene Forest. Is there something he made you do there that you do not wish me to see?"

_Yes._ "In a way."

He nodded in understanding and reluctantly parted his touch from my cheek. His hand landed by his other in his lap and he again went to stare into the fire, his thoughts lost in its dance.

"Forgive me," he said after a while. "I should not have pried. What you have been through is not something I should interfere in."

"I... I don't mind," I admitted shyly and reached out to squeeze his hand. "You're different. I feel like I can trust you, more so than the others. Even Jaras doesn't know as much as you do."

He smiled at that, though there was a crookedness to it that betrayed the sadness that not even he could quite hide. "I suppose he would not be too pleased in hearing that."

I nodded. "No, he wouldn't, so maybe it is best not to tell him."

"Perhaps."

I was not sure what it was about the elvhen that had affected me so. Ever since we had met in Skyhold, he had been different and had exceeded any and all expectations. In journeying to find him, I truly thought that he would either find a cure for the shard and then, once everything was done, would send me on my way to whatever fate the Gods had planned, or would ignore my plight and take the shard for himself, hoping to resurrect the power inside. Instead, I found myself journeying across Thedas with a falon, a friend, someone who knew the history and language of the ancients but was not arrogant in his knowledge. He was someone who understood the hardships in others and truly cared to help me and not just for a personal gain.

But there was more to him, so much more. There was an enigma to him that begged to be solved. There was an intelligence that went beyond others. There was wisdom there for an elvhen who had not lived passed forty years and such wisdom would usually have taken centuries to find. He cared to teach me about the Fade, an ancient and respected place once sacred to my people, and did all in his power to seek out what was lost. He was a kind soul, but also one that seemed to be pained in some way, though what that pain was, I was not entirely sure.

Solas was one I respected and treasured as a friend, perhaps more. To lose him would be like losing another one of the few that cared for me to my former master and that was something that could not happen.

With more hesitation than care, I reached a delicate hand out to caress his cheek just as he had done before. His skin was smooth to the touch, near hairless and warm like sun-kissed silk, while speckled faintly in a light array of freckles. Before the thought could pass away, I gently touched cool lips to the elvhen's forehead in a silent thank you for everything he had done.

Upon leaning back, the elvhen stared with what seemed to be a humours display of confusion and surprise, only added by the rosy tint at the sharp points of his ears and cheeks, but the frown he had formed was pushed away, changed with the faint hint of a grin that battled for dominance over his lips.

Before any questions could be asked on the act, I pulled the fur pelts tight over my shoulders and snuggled back into the elvhen's embrace, closing my eyes from the firelight and inhaling the fresh smell of tomes and pine.

A sigh rumbled through the elvhen's chest upon his arm curving around my waist and quietly he tucked my head under his chin.

Nothing else was said for some time. Nothing was passed and all that could be heard was nature's sounds and the crackling of a meager fire burning the night away.

A great deal of time had passed before Solas was lured by the temptations of the Fade. The arm that held me grew weak. His breathing calmed until it was barely felt through his tunic. Only the steady beat of a lulling heart could be felt. "Rest well, Da'len," he whispered and it was not long before he was under the Fade's veil, lost from the waking world to find long-forgotten ruins and ancient lore buried deep within its depths.

Slumber, however, did not take me as it took him. It would not. It could not - no matter how right it felt.

It was a long, tortuous time until a decision was made. The soft shuffle of parting fur pelts was the only sound that stirred Solas but it was fleeting. By the time my belongings were packed and shrugged over one shoulder, the fire had waned into a pale imitation of its former glory and was near a pile of ash on the ground.

"Dareth shiral," I whispered and took into the forest before anything else could be said.

Solas could not come with me. Whatever lay in the Pantheon of the Holy, the temple the shard had envisioned, was my responsibility and mine alone. To have Solas see what was inside would either ruin what we had or turn him against me.

The new-light of dawn peeked through the trees to the east, bright and blazing through the crossing elms and branches ahead. A new day and the shard began to glow in reaction. With the shard as my guide the temple would soon be found.

But there was fear amongst other feelings. Fear for what was to be found.

By Dirthamen, I hoped I made the right choice.

...

_So sorry this took so long to do, but with life being busy and focusing on the first few chapters of my novel, I just didn't get much time to do this, so I admit it was done quickly. _  
_So, Lahris has left Solas. Don't worry though, it won't be for long. That one's persistant._  
_Thanks so much to everyone who's reading the story and sending comments. I love to know what you guys think._  
_New chapter will take a while to do but hopefully it'll be up soon. __Again, thanks to everyone who comments and reads the fic. Means a lot :)_


	27. The Path's Asunder

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Past's Asunder

The temple was beautiful many years ago, but was even more wondrous at sunset. There was a tale to it that many across Elvhenan knew once, though, as proven many times, was forgotten to all but I.

The temple, it was believed, was built in a place older than many of the ancient Elvhen, and may have predated the younger Evanuris. It was believed that the strongest of Evanuris, Mythal in her wisdom and Elgar'nan in his might, crafted the temple from the stone beneath the oceans; murging the rock with the strongest roots of the eldest willows held within the holiest of forests - the white wood of Arlathan. From there, Mythal scowered the land in search of riches for her loved one's monument, and found gems of ruby, emerald and sapphire buried deep within the darkest parts of the world's mountains, and in turn, joined those most precious of stones to towering spires set to strike the sky and beyond to the fresh layers of the Fade. Once completed, statues were created in the likeness of Elgar'nan to provide leadership and pride within the temple's mountenaous halls, and fountains created in likeness of Mythal to settle within the temple's courtyards to provide wisdom and judgement. Overall the construction took many days, it was said, but once all was done, the structure built to satisfaction, the Evanuris gifted the temple to the People and placed an artifact belonging to each God within. This was so that the People could commune to all of the Pantheon freely, without restraint, so that the Pantheon could advise and guide them into a promising millennia.

Yet once the centuries passed and the Elvhen began to lose their respect for the monument, the Evanuris decided to gift the People one last time: a gift of beauty.

It was said that once the deep lavender of sunset painted the sky, and when Sylaise wove her warmth into the clouds, pouring crimson and flame into dusk, that the temple's towers would sing in rays of maroon and gold, and would continue until the light of Elgan'an's sun had turned cold and Mythal's light, in turn, had rose high. Ghilan'nain would speak life into the forest, and the creatures within too would sing with the temple's towers, oft solemn tunes. The melody would carry through the wind and would journey from the great mountains of June, to the deep groves of Dirthamen, reaching the far woodlands of the huntress Andruil, across Mythal's ocean and Elgar'nan's throne, all to end at the far reaches of the Fade, were even Falon'Din's steps rarely passed. Even the lone wolf, Fen'Harel, could not ignore the temple's melody, and was rumoured to have howled along, harmonising with the spirits once they had added their piece to the seemingly infinite symphony.

And at the moment when the melody would turn quiet, and the Gods took ear: the wind would die, and the air would become utterly still. If one paused long enough, it was said, and listened, the white waters surrounding the temple's islet would still, the surface would clear, not ripple, and the faces of the Gods would reflect within, as well as the true reflection of eternal Elvhenan. In doing that, the Elvhen people would know that their Gods were ever-watching, never to abandon, and so long as the Elvhen stayed true to the Evanuris' teachings and gave the temple respect, they would continue to do so until the end of time.

Truly, such a thing was not witnessed by myself. But there was beauty to the temple, and even though the Elvhen poets of the ancient time may have liked to embellish, the temple was a whisper upon the world of Thedas for the elves - but a fragment that, as once said, was a blessing for the Elvhen to witness a thousand times over.

Queer, it was, to know that such a place may not have existed anymore, yet as old elms withered away upon the touch of the forest's heart, alternating to whitening willows and quivering aspens that's sheltering arms shivered silently throughout the light breeze of the long eve, hope seemed to be a blooming thing, one that grew with each step taken.

But it had been so long. So long since the steps to the Renan'ellin were taken. So long it had been since the ancient roads were walked and the murals canvassed on sundered pillars were seen by something other than nature's beasts.

The roads carved through the forest as naturally as the free-roaming river that followed it, shown in the layer upon layer of lyrium-laced stone once delicately woven into the earth. Not even the roots dared to cross the pathways fully, not that they even could, for there were runes, ancient and forgotten, that protected the roads over the long years so that even though the forest did florescence around it, the path could still be seen, though a remnant of its former glory.

To walk through the forest was difficult. The bruising in my side ached at every instance while exhaustion was only a few paces behind every haggard step and every trip over an upturned root. There was something other than will forced me onward, however, something more controlling that I could not quite place.

The shard, perhaps?

The affects it had were still not fully known. Yet the swirling star encased in a violet frame circled on and on as if eternally set. Only the roads seemed to react to its presence, gleaming silver across the shade of looming boughs, coiling through tall grass.

As time passed, the nearby river of the Plasene birthed into a twin, while the path crossed over it into the central islet to begin again; to wound restlessly through that patch of land.

A part of me wondered if there was anything left of the Renan'ellin, if it had perhaps succumbed to the world and its change worse than could be imagined, but as the sound of rushing water grew in haste, and the willows began to uncurl their branches, a shadow amid a cloud of white appeared in the distance as a lone spire, stood tall.

It glimmered faintly, its surface clear and sharp, as if a jewel cased in clear-cut glass. The cloud of white edged its way into the forest one strand at a time, east to west, until several spires joined the first into a city of light, drawn into cerulean shadows.

The Renan'ellin. The temple what's name meant the voices of our blood. It curved beyond the waterfalls on an islet on its own, a long fold of stone shaped as a claw being the only bridge connecting it to the mainland. The willows and aspens clung to the temple's boundaries, their long branches having curved into the temple's high walls and through the shattered, arched panes that once held the purest of glass. Though the temple had lost most of the stark beauty that made it a thing to behold, there was still evidence to it that truly retained its remarkable status, such as the twisted spires that still held remnants of gold plating at the tips. The plating coiled along with the spire like a stone serpent to jut out into the sky of high-scuttling clouds, glinting when the rifts of setting sunlight peeked through.

Without hesitation, my steps left the mainland and swiftly passed the sharp edge of the bridge. It was difficult not to overhear the heavy rush of falling white-waved water when the rivers descended into the black abyss below. I reached the islet left to nature's course, saw what once was and once could have been, what had survived and what had fallen. Any bones had been swept away with the passing winds, leaving only the stonework and murals to tell the tale of the Renan'ellin's passed years. Statues of proud, bow-strung elvhen guarded it, pointing their drawn arrows south to any who dared come across the ruin. Beyond the bridge were the trees guarded lay a great wall of white keeping the secrets of the temple within with only the braided branches of an arched gate as a way inside.

Even from a distance, a ward could be felt - a magical web of protection that could be seen shimmering, glistening pearl along the strands of silver tangled across the gate's solid bars. As if innately known or in reaction to the ward, a quiet hum thrummed through the bones of my hand. The shard gripped there glowed its faint violet. It was pressed into the diamond-shaped hold in the gate's center and the ward disbanded in a burst of light, swiftly seeping back into the gate's silver and leaving it unprotected. With a light push the gateway parted, showing the temple I had thought never to witness again.

Slowly, the rows of steps to the temple's courtyard were taken up. There, cornered between towers, sundered walls and lichen-enveloped statues, sat a deathly silence, only breached by the occasional whisper of a leaf grazing the ground - a memory, a symbol, to the magic that once bloomed within the place.

It was different. So different. There were no shawled elvhen knelt analysing tomes under aspens or perched under shady groves; no sentinels patrolling the Renan'ellin's borders, parading in armour of gemstone, threaded with samite and carrying staffs of gleaming moonstone; no courtiers dressed in fine silk, no children playing by the courtyard's fountain, were the water once flowed through dragon's mouths, only to tangle - spiral through the air in a magnificent display so often seen that it was so easily forgotten. It may have been a place ruled by my former master, but his evil did not taint all, not even the tenants that lived within. The pilgrims that would come to pray to the Gods for fortune as well as blessing, the spells the monks shared bending the elements to their will in the midst of dawn and dusk, were what brought the place life and beauty. But they were gone, not even dust upon the stonework.

Vacant, was the warren of quiet, ivy-choked passages, as was to be expected. Passing through the remnants of such a long dead culture, one only few innately knew birthed many differences in emotion. Upon first sight of the temple, the initial reactions were awe, surprise and then sadness. Awe as to the temple's appearance, that even after so many thousands of years, it still remained intact. Surprised upon noticing just how much it had changed, sometimes not always for the better, and sadness in realisation that, once again, I was alone in a time I did not belong, and the temple stood as a great reminder of what was lost. In some way, some parts of the temple fed a fear that could not be so simply placed. Perhaps it was in knowing that those that called the shard, as well as myself, to the ruin, were somewhere deep inside, dwelling, waiting. Perhaps it was knowing that I was alone. Perhaps it was not knowing what to expect. Either way, the fear was there and grew slow.

Long steps dipped deeper and deeper into the temple, etched in flawed stone with many loose. Yet as courtyards were passed without a thought, the halls gradually returned to memory; all held in the lined light of the eve, with brass torches hung without veilfire. It was quiet, lifeless.

And then a door, shrouded in a corner of shadow, arched back on its own accord.

An echo... a breath... a sigh drifted through the crack; enthralling every sense. It was light in its welcome and inspired the edges of my robe forward, along with a faint trail of white dust.

I watched, hesitantly, as my hand pressed the door further back, almost without fear, as if the choice to fear the sudden action was taken from me. In fact, the action felt like it was the right thing to do, as if I already knew what was to happen, and that there was no threat.  
Inside, there was a rotunda that seemed to be no different from the rest of the temple. Most was difficult to see, except for the blades of moonlight, cast from the ruptures in the scarred ceiling, to keep the dark at bay. Vines swept down in ladders from the fractures to trail buds of dead honeysuckle along the muck-tiled walls, only to rest at the stone floor. Glass struck the ground in pale jagged points from where panels were once placed. A bird or two sang from the nests above.

And then a monument glinted at a point, untangling it from the tinge of darkness. It was perched in the centre of the rotunda. A single rough block set uptight. As it was inspected from a distance, a soft glow resonated from the shard, casting the rotunda's walls in a pale radiance. With the darkness fought, the stone took a new form, a seemingly new mien. A swathed figure, bound to kneel against the ground, while a spear-tipped cowl kept his identity hidden from all. Tangled, his body was in ropes of foliage, his crown haloed in lichen leaves, though beneath laid the robes of stone flesh, etched in wispy marks like veins on translucent skin, snaking along the crossed arms and broad chest, to twist and end at the effigy's face.

My steps, cautious though seemingly calm, inched closer to the effigy until its surface was but at arm's reach. From there I plucked a stray leaf from his face, hoping there was an appearance under the cowl. Yet, there was none. The man, if it were a man, was faceless. A prominent nose and point-tipped ears were the only details to mark him as elvhen. There were indents to his cowl's crown, small circular points, perhaps once fixed with gemstones if it had not been so weathered away, or if time had been merciful.

Slightly unsure, my face inched closer to his. For a moment, it seemed that his face had reflected my own, and as my fingers brushed away the dust from his cheeks, his face glinted more against the shard's light. His face was made from a mirror piece, purple around the edges.

I glanced back down at the shard in my palm and frowned. Was he and the shard crafted from the same material?

The shard thrummed, warming my palm. Perhaps it was.

"Who was it who created you?" I whispered to the masked man. "Where did you come from? How have I never seen you before?"  
How come you seem so familiar?

A sigh escaped me, warn and defeated, and I stepped back from the effigy, a pain having flared briefly at my side. Why was I even there?  
The temple had added only more confusion and gave no answers that were promised. There was no hint into what I could do next other than wander, and even then there was no hint to another life having been within the temple for over a century.

Perhaps it was foolish to have journeyed so far from the safety of the camp - from my falon. Though, there was no way of turning back without losing myself within the sheltering arms of the forest's vale and, even then, there was no hope of finding Solas. If the creatures, if they were creatures, wished to meet me, had brought me back to the temple for a reason, the reason was not clear and they were nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps I merely thought I had witnessed a vision from them. Perhaps it was but a dream and none of what I saw was real. Perhaps...  
perhaps my former master's madness had corrupted me, the paranoia of his return enough to cause me to see things that were not there. Perhaps he was in my mind after all, toying with me like he used to do to those he called servants, like puppets on a string. Yet Solas blocked him from my mind. Our connection was weakened. He could not have so easily broken the barrier. Where I was, what I saw must have been real. It must have. There was no reason for it not to be.

The amount of time I had stayed knelt on the floor gazing up at the effigy could have been mere moments, it could have been hours. My thoughts through it all were constant, tarrying back and forth between insanity and rationality, unsure of what my next plan was.

A sharp call of a raven brought me out of the reverie. From the rotunda's ruptures, a faint wind brushed my face, and suddenly the warmth of the shard's light turned raw and the darkness seeped in. All around, the blades of moonlight began to dwindle, one by one, as black clouds strewn across the sky whisked in to pluck the light from the ceiling's fractures, only to leave two faint beams lighting the effigy and I in a barely lit circle.

Fear held my breath in a vice. The rawness of the room caught the wind again, and somehow that rawness anchored itself to my wrist; slipped up the expanse of my arms; laced itself to the point where shoulder met collarbone, and faltered - a hair's width from the heart, almost like a swordsman that marked a path to where the edge of steel would fall.

My breathing hitched. Magic quickly kindled in both hands, crackling against the hollow suck and whistle of the wind.

I was not alone.

From above, the raven shrieked again, accompanied by another of its kind. With three red eyes between them, they stared down, almost mocking with their call, until their thick wings curled back, cast the stone ground in a two-winged shadow, and took flight. But as one took to glide through a fracture to the sky, the other strangely did not.

In several long flaps of its wings, it distanced itself from the moonlight and struck the darkness with a blood-bathed beak. It's crackle pierced the room, and as the sound was thrown off the walls the bird circled, the full force of its screech hit the effigy, sending the floor in a constant rumble of tremors.

A hand pressed against one of my ears in an attempt to drown it out. It did not last. The shard dropped - hit the ground in a harsh clang. On impulse, my free hand stretched out. Long tangles of power branched off, pale and blue, in luminous wisps, hissing and shimmering in ice against my robe. In a flick of a wrist the magic was set free and cast waves of ice in all directions.

The cracks and shatters of magic could be heard amidst the raven's taunt, but no matter where the ice struck, from walls to the once lit torches, the shriek did not falter.

Another pool of magic spun around my hands, and again the spell sprang from the confines, tainting the air with cold enough to freeze one's breath in their lungs. Again, the raven's shriek grew until its call was piercing the confines of my skull, and all that could be felt was the beating of dreaded heartbeats knocking against my eardrums.

Cursing under my breath, my knees fell to the ground and head landed in my lap. Through a wavy haze, I caught sight of the shard and watched, helplessly, as the spirit inside spun rigorously, needing release.

In one last impulse, a hand reached out. The shard screamed, pleaded to be touched, rattling against the ground. Once my skin ghosted its cold surface, the shard sprang to life. In a flash of burning pain, the black veins of my skin sparked with life. Scintillations of diamond-hard light pulsed in the dark, luring the raven out with each heavy blast. Before long the rotunda sparked violet and the last two beams of moonlight disappeared in a cloak of feathers.

And then the rotunda went all together dark, clouded and hidden, as if a crevice had opened in the world of sight, were there was only emptiness. In the shadow, my fingers curled in, while my hands were splayed across the hard stone floor, pained and sore. The taught fabric of my robe quivered lightly at the edges, but my arms and legs remained still, unable to be moved. After moments of long nothingness, there was a faint luminescence, and for a time, the shard could have been the only light in existence. It pulsed in and out, distancing the dark by mere footfalls from my body, and for half a moment, there was a sense of hope, a sense that promised comfort, something that could protect me, and I it.

With each breath, the shard pulsed, and with every exhale it dulled, though not entirely. It was as if we were one and the same. Our connection felt greater than once thought.

A long silence swept over the rotunda. A silence fit for the dead. There was no distant flap of heavy wings. No call like clawing glass. Nothing.  
Simply the light pants passed between numb lips and a scrape when my hand took hold of the effigy's arm in order to stand.

Bones ached. My arms felt swollen, sore. But just as the peace from what had happened began to feel like a fleeting thing, the clouds from the sky gradually cleared to reveal a dark blue and the moonlight returned to pierce the darkness, as if nothing that had just happened was real.  
Ever more confused, my eyes scoured the visible planes of the rotunda, searching for the raven's body. Only the stone was void, covered in only dust, glass and shattered ice. In fact, it was as if the raven had not even existed. But something did not feel right. There was someone within the temple, close and waiting. The faint aura of magic could be felt from them, as if they were a manifestation of the Fade itself.

"Andaran atish'a, Asha'dirthara."

A voice intoned, warm and welcoming - filled with knowing and pride. From behind the faceless effigy, a woman drifted out, her bare feet light upon the smooth stone. Behind, a cape of black feathers traced her delicate steps, wove around her long thighs, curled around in knots over her chest, leaving her toned stomach and pale neck susceptible to the night's chill. Upon her crown, her raven hair dangled from twin loops of white gold, ending to the point where her shoulder met collarbone.

Her steps were planned, purposeful, radiating power - and danger- only to end at the brink of the moon's light were if she took another step, she would have been lost to the rotunda.

A twinkle of amusement lit her sharp eyes, seemingly touched with a tinge of sanguine; laid beneath long black lashes, when a step on my part was taken back. Her expression would have been menacing if her lip had curled just a little more than it already had. She took another step forward, then another, each boring more power than the last, then, once she was close, she took a glance at the shard that was still shining. Her lips went thin. "It has been a time since I was near bested by a power worthy of rivalry. Even by a mage with a magic that doesn't belong to her. How... peculiar."

She went quiet for a moment, one that was not broken until her pale, sharp features took on a stern edge and she waved a light hand in the air dismissively. "You have nothing to fear from me, sweet thing. In fact, this has been long awaiting, you and I, the woman seeking truth, and I, her guide."

Ever-more cautious, perhaps even on instinct, I curled my shard-filled hand from her prying sight and rested it behind my back, tucked in the spare material roped in a knot to keep my robe intact. It was an action she noticed but did not react to. "Who are you?"

Her near-purple lips curled, and her head bowed, not in courtesy, but mockery. "Ah! A name, is it, you wish? Not how I came to be in this place, nor where I came from? What I am doing here? How... unexpected. But, names have a price, or they did, back when there was an Elvhenan and the People weren't turned to dust. How about a trade, of sorts? I shall tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"Why do you wish to know that?" I asked with a slight frown.

A light smirk, then a tusk. "Pleasantries. Nothing more."

"Pleasantries?"

"Now, come, Asha'dithara. Surely the years have not been so poor that you have forgotten pleasantries? What would They say, when Lahris Elgar'shiral is upon their door?"

Sudden and sharp, the earth rumbled in ruthless abandon against the rotunda. Dust rained in rivulets of pale particles from the ceiling beams, striking the mist hard like hail upon snow.

A hand latched onto the effigy. My body hid under the bowing man's face when vines hit the ground and handfuls of stone were set loose from the ceiling beams. Only once the tremors had settled did I slowly crawl from under the effigy's protection and my focus was quickly directed to the ceiling and parts of missing rock.

"W-what was that?"

"That?" the woman scoffed derisively, her chin scrunched into a scowl. She carefully smoothed the ruffled feathers of her gown and added softly, "That is those who await you."

My head turned at her words - breath caught and lips tightly kept.

Having realised she had caught my focus, the woman sauntered up to the faceless effigy, the feathers of her gown twitching in a seemingly nonexistent breeze. She pressed her hip up against the stone's dented elbow and brought her forefinger up, curved it and gently stroked the stone's cheek, careful to not scratch the surface with a long black nail. "The ones who walk here are all things past. They cradle sulahn, songs of abelas [sorrow], songs of enfanim [fear], and bones gnawed by teeth. Despised. Twisted. I hear them. The forlornness. Desperation. Weak creatures. It makes for excellent music, though... I have grown tired of such folly. Their music no longer amuses me, and I wish rid of the burden they have become."

"A burden? Who are They? Why would they be a burden to you?"

Her finger paused, if momentarily, and she chuckled, albeit softly, to herself. "So many questions, so few answers. I am not here simply because I wish to be. I have been commanded and must follow the command until it's fulfilled. It is in my nature, as curiosity is in yours."

"You were commanded? By whom? How did you know about this place?"

"Isn't it obvious, Asha'dithara?" She tusked, a twisted sense of mirth upon the tip of her tongue. "No. You do not know. Yet. But truth comes to all, I have found in my years here, and no matter how deeply buried they may seem, they always find a way to surface. Hah! Oh, I wish to see the lies that fall from their great heights in the times to come. How delightful it would be to witness. How terribly delightful!"

For the briefest, peculiar moment, the woman's eyes took on a deepened tinge of red, dark yet light enough to pierce the dull veil of the rotunda - the glimmer of madness sparking in her reflection on the effigy's face. Then, as if she were a spectre, or crippling corpse, her pallid skin marred to a scaly, leaden tone - one that cracked and peeled at the edges. The feathers of her gown crawled in on themselves, one long grey quill at a time. In a frightening gust of wind, her body flaked away in an array of fading petals.

"Can you not hear them?" she asked, her voice another worldly hiss, heavy on the ears. "For ages past I have watched them, considered them - found them wanting. They thirst - their desire as needing as a dry well lacking water. Foul creatures of the deep. Experiments went astray. They call for you. Beckon. A desire left unfulfilled. Needy. Hungry. Alive! "With each word, the rotunda's black grew, sweeping in on the small circle of moonlight keeping it at bay. "Hmm. I do wonder. Do you even know what it is you will face? Are you even prepared for what will come to pass? Oh, I sense your fear. It is so ripe."

Within the gloom, behind the man-like effigy, a gentle breeze sucked the remaining warmth of the rotunda in one lasting swallow and sent scattered fragments of what could have been trails of burned paper rising through a light veil of pastel vapour, twisting through it in quiet whispers. Upon their turn the scattered fragments appeared to be feathers slowly blending together, curving and solidifying until the semblance of the woman took hold. Points sharpened, embodying a nose, lips, chin and breasts to emulate her face and chest, an echo of her previous form, yet still uniquely her. Behind the feathers, two fire-lights flickered above the dimples of her cheeks, warring with a mix of curiosity and delight. "But that time is not now. Garas. Come, ye of so few years. The hour grows late and they will not tarry for eternity. At least, not happily."

A heavy clap reverberated off the walls. The rotunda shuddered in reaction. Veins upon the faceless effigy began to illuminate sanguine, the magic filtering into a variety of circular patterns upon the floor, only to splinter and part the stone at different angles upon the spell's touch. One by one, long steps drifted down into the earth in a circular spire case around the effigy, creating a winding stairway that led to an unknown location.

The woman's hand drifted out, lighting the way with a shimmering orb of emerald veilfire. "I am Ghil'Dirthalen, as promised. My nature. My being. My curse. See to it as you wish. My fate does not change from here. Yours, well, that is to witness, no?"

My gaze flickered between her and the steps and the urge to flee became all the more appealing. "And if I turn back?"

"Dear, what makes you think that you have that choice? The door back is bound. Locked by an ancient key that I do not possess. The only way is onward. Or is it your wish to dwell within this tomb? Be it as you may. I would not mind the company. It would be most entertaining to observe your will as its stripped away from you, for the hunger to drain you, for your skin to wrinkle and age and for your ribs to prominent, and then for the rats to lash at your bones, while your blood runs cold along the floor."

A step back had come by instinct on my part, as did a sharpening of my stance. The thrum of magic threatened to spark to life. "Is that a threat?"

"A threat?" she asked, eyes alight. "I do not make threats. It is simply fact. That is what will happen if you do not follow. And where is the fun in a predictable death?" she chuckled, her manner no less than rueful, and gracefully turned to the stairway. She glided down the first array of steps, while her ball of floating veilfire waited behind for me to follow. Once a few heartbeats had passed, her voice called out and it took one long, lasting look at the spell-bound door behind me to realise that I had wandered right into a trap, one that seemed to have been planned for a very, very long time.

I glanced down at the shard, both in fear and at a loss on what to do. The spirit inside settled in a gentle rhythm, floating in a constant circle, yet the warmth I felt from it was enough to steady my nerves. I had survived through worse endeavors. Panicking would end me no favors. The spirit inside was not fretful, and so I decided to trust in its nature, in its decision and gained the courage to follow Ghil'Dirthalen, one cautious step at a time.

The passage could have been created specifically to make one wary, blind and lost. It was difficult to keep on going balanced as the stairs steepened on their own accord and narrowed upon every turn. At some points, the hint of light passed through the ceiling, but as we delved further down from the surface, the promise of an external light was thin and the only luminescence that promised to be permanent was that of Ghil'Dirthalen's own creation.

Through the journey down Ghil'Dirthalen hummed a tune, one that for a moment was uplifting, joyous even, and then turned sorrowful. The bounce in her step had dwindled the further we delved, as did the grace in her strides. Water dripped from the fractures in the rock above, while the tunnel caught a sour, acrid, almost mildewed smell to it, likely the result of the moss that coated the walls thick. The veilfire globe continued to light the path ahead, but the path behind had all but disappeared.

"Shall I tell you a tale?" Ghil'Dirthalen asked without glancing back. "Maybe that will soften your confused thoughts."

"That depends," I said, and passed a hand out to the veilfire globe for it to lightly rest in my palm. "Is the tale true?"

"As true as you wish it to be."

"Then tell it."

She did not have to look back for me to know that her first answer was a smirk. "The Renan'ellin. A jewel upon the Elvhen. Crafted by the very Gods. Magical perfection. Your home, was it not? After your first fell to ruin? The years were long when you passed. Winter passed without a tear, then summer blossomed, and behind the walls and towers, the temple's rivers did run bright with blood. The former tenant searched tirelessly for you, his prized pet, yet you were nowhere to be found, and when he did hunt you down, you slipped through his claws without a trace. Yet you did not think your actions had no consequences, did you? The nobles you ensnared to do your master's will? The lives you decided to spare instead of end? The falon you left astray? He changed them. Twisted them for his purpose. And now they are a gift to you. Their souls reside within this place and they blame you."

"But fear not. You and his pets are part of an even greater plan. Your master will not throw you to the wolves so hastily."

"What did he do to them?" I asked, dreading and waiting for an answer. Heartbeats turned into moments, and moments turned into longer moments and yet nothing further was spoken. When none finally came, the veilfire glob maneuvered from my hand and stilled above our heads.

A swift sense of impatience set in and my hand lashed out to grab her shoulder, fingers quickly fumbling and catching the feathers there, and turned her back. Only when she did, there was no inch of surprise in her reaction, no flinch, no flash of anger than was expected. She allowed the action to happen, yet it was not exactly a surrender. She merely stared back, studying, her piercing, other-worldly eyes keener and more vigilant than before, as if curious as to what would come next and how far I would go to get the truth. "What did he do to me? Tell me!"

The shard shook my other hand, sensing the sudden conflict. It felt my impatience and in turn lit the fire of its magic in my veins. Ghil'Dirthalen glanced down. There, on my arm, the black scars trembled in sparks. The woman twisted out of my grasp, quickly retreating further into the stairway's shadows. My spare hand came to rest at the crook of my elbow. Power kindled, much like it had done in the past before it burst from the seams. Dread seared my chest.

"What is happening to me?" I whispered, pleaded to know. My arm trembled all the more.

Ghil'Dirthalen inclined her head, dubiously. "You truly don't know?" For a moment she did not speak. She watched my reaction to the shard, the cogs of her mind turning, ears twitching, searching for any hint of a false pretense or lie, but when none came, her features softened.

Her gaze jerked sudden up, then back. A wry look passed her face. "Another prowls the deep amongst us. An old sulahn, skulking along the temple's halls, hunting," she intoned, her voice humming out her words. "A falon of yours. Shall I leave you two to acquaint?"

Upon the threat of her disappearance, my gaze tore from my arm to her, only what I was met with was a rock and moss wall. I looked around nervously, increasingly aware of her disappearance and the lack of life around. "Ghil'Dirthalen? Ghil'Dirthalen!"

There was only quietness that struck the long, drafty stairway, barely broken by the distant dripping of a leaking rock. A slow chill crawled up my spine and not even the soft radiance of the veilfire globe could calm the impending fear of what she meant. Then, there was a muffle and a sweep from further up to the place where the globe barely pierced with its eerie glow. The muffled sweeps were slow, controlled, not missing a step, but echoed from everywhere. My eyes caught every angle, darted from the shadows to the walls and all points in between. To hide was impossible. The option to run down the steps was tempting, but the sound could have been coming from there, instead of up. Going up, there was the sureness of the rotunda, going down, there was only seclusion. But the footfalls were growing - the heavy pants of a man caught the air. A clink of metal against stone sounded from above.

Above. The sound came from above!

With one last glance back, I allowed instinct to take control. The steps of the stairway were taken two or three at a time, my hands careening off the walls each time the stairs turned. Behind, the blackness closed in, but ahead, the globe was my shield, lighting the way three paces ahead. Part of me feared a tumble, but the thought was fleeting. Soon after, the care of a fall was gone. To flee was my only desire.

Down below, there was a labyrinth of old corridors, wreathing their ways south and west. Alters of three eyed ravens heralded one side of the wall, opposing the silver-tipped owls perched on the other side, glaring down. Around were crypts and sarcophagus' of white-weathered stone, the shapes of those that laid within imprinted into the surface. And beside each sarcophagus were statues of weeping women, their arms laced together and their bowing faces hidden under a veil of aged silk.

Behind, a light surfaced at the tip of the stairway's turn, glinting green against the walls. A long shadow loomed over.

With a quiet curse, I began swatting the shimmering globe of veilfire away until the small ball flickered itself out, and I stumbled into the darkness, catching the corner of a sarcophagus by hand and hiding myself behind it. From the sarcophagus' corner I watched, shakily, as the light from the stairway drew forth from the black. The light flickered, danced across the corridor's walls, making the owls and raven's bodies seem alive, twisting them, changing them.

A hand pressed against my swiftly rising chest, and I let out a shaky breath. Being enclosed in darkness usually brought with it a sense of solace, but the constant threat of the shard's magic pulsing, ready to spill from my very hand at any moment, added with the disappearance of a woman I barely knew and the even larger threat of a newcomer in the midst, was quickly becoming too much to handle.

More of the corridor became clear, cast in an eerie green that only brightened as the base of the stairway was taken by an other, his form barely visible with the light being too piercing to see through. The light was past from left to right, signalling the stranger's unfamiliarity to the place and as he stepped into a small pool of icy water, the mirror image of a faded face appeared and rippled in the reflection.

Oddly enough, the man did not so easily wander away. Instead, he stayed in one place for a time, staring at the stonework and graves, as if marvelling them. Then, he turned to the passage ahead, his steps muffled once his feet had left the water. With the use of the sarcophagus' edge, I slowly crept around - from one side to the other, in the slight hope of catching a lingering glimpse of the man. By the time I had rounded the second corner, a startling shiek pierced the air, accompanied by clawing and biting.

A rat. It snapped at my boot, the length of its scrawny tail having been trapped underneath it. I jumped back, hands and back against the ground, and it scattered away in the other direction as fast as its little legs could carry it.

The light turned direction, closing in on the sarcophagus.

Oh no.

In a quick motion, I twisted from the sarcophagus' side to the standing statue of a weeping woman and hid myself behind her. The darkness quickly ebbed away and to my left was the shadow of the man on the wall, bowing to one side, perhaps peering around the sarcophagus to see if I was there.

There was no escape. There was nowhere to turn without him seeing me.

A familiar burning started along my skin. The familiar sparks pierced and dully flashed, threatening release. Steadying my breaths, mana was carefully channeled along my arm, and I weaved it along the expanse of elbow and wrist until a sharp side-arm blade was crafted, purely of ice.

In the other hand the shard was gripped tight and was slowly pointed up to a fracture in the ceiling. The shadow noticed something was afoot. It grew threateningly tall against the wall, and the small sound of footsteps grew louder with each passing heartbeat.

A bolt of violent energy was unleashed with a blinding flash of green. It lanced up and struck the ceiling, causing the ancient stone to explode and rain down with a crack of thunder. In an instant, rocks fell like hailstones and a deluge of thick dust filled the air. The man let out a final anguished cry, followed by silence.

As the swirling clouds of dust began to thin, the man could be seen hunched over, coughing into his tattered sleeve near a pile of rubble, as rocks continued to fall from the crumbling ceiling. He seemed shaken but unhurt. Before he could recover, I forced myself free from my hiding place. My hands pushed off the weeping statue and I lunged straight into his back with the speed of an arrow fired from a longbow. He stumbled awkwardly but quickly recovered, pirouetting on one foot with delicacy seen only in the most experienced of enchanters.

Effortlessly, he swung his staff around his body, allowing my feet to fall flat and my hands to land hard against the wall. My back was open to him. Defenseless. As I twisted myself around, he readied his next attack. His staff raised, ready to come crashing down. I managed to veer just in time and his staff missed my body by inches, lashing the wall instead. After another lunge to safety, I lifted my arm up and sent a wave of ice in his direction. The stranger countered, casting a ward of white energy to absorb the spell until it was ineffective; tiny particles soon twinkled out of existence around him. Another wave was sent, and another, to no avail. He then struck with a strike of his own, lunging forward with the staff point-first.

Another twist, this time to my left, and soon I was behind him. In one last turn we were at an impasse, my ice-bladed arm set at an angle, his staff forcing it down from above - his hands clutched to both ends, steadying it with his weight. In the darkness, his face was impossible to see. His light, a rusty iron torch, lay discarded by the crypt entrance hall, the veilfire near extinguished. With every moment our bodies became more exhausted and the pain in my side flared.

Knowing the man would persist, I spat, after swallowing a sour rush of fear, "Why are... you, following me?"

For a moment his grip on the staff seemed to halt, then soften. Through the dim, dusty light, his face seemed to tilt to the side, and his staff inched back. Then, as if he had underwent a sudden realisation, his staff was released and returned to his side without forewarning.

With no pressure to keep me balanced, my knees hit the floor almost instantly. Breaths spluttered ragged from my lips, swollen and cut, and a hand was lifted to my breast, hoping to even its swift rise and fall. It was a struggle to rise, legs shaken and quivering, reminding me of the effects of induced hunger. Out of the corner of my eye came a hand, extended. The man's face was still obscured, but the gesture was non-threatening, almost polite, and I took the hand offered freely, before backing away from him, one small step at a time.

Surprisingly, his hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. Then, came a soft, "Da'len?"

My feet stilled. "S... Solas?" Surely that was not possible. There was no possible way that could have been him. And yet his voice was instinctively him, as soft as a whisper, yet commanding, hinted with concern and filled with a wisdom only an elder whom had lived a life of hardship could bare.

Slowly, carefully, I took a step forward, gently taking the iron torch cast aside in a shaking hand. Flickering embers trailed the air and the iron was brought up to pass the stranger's shoulders.

In the dimness, the all too familiar features of the elvhen appeared from the shadow in a pale green luminosity. A smile threatened to break me even. "Solas?" I whispered again, his name near foreign on the tongue, his appearance unexpected to say the least, but the word quickly filled with relief and my arms flew out to his shoulders and pulled him close.

The elvhen staggered forward, arms gently resting on the curve of my back. He exhaled, tingling my ear in the process, and all at once his hold became tight. "Da'len, forgive me. I did not know that was you. Are you hurt?"

"It's fine," I choked, tightening my hold. Upon our parting, I passed the veilfire torch to him and spoke, words faint, "How did you get here? How did you find me?"

For a moment he ignored the question, pressing a gentle hand up to rest on my jaw's curve, his features soft, calm, relieved. But then his brows grew into a heavy crease. His hand dropped.

"You mean after you left the safety of the camp and journeyed halfway across the forest without speaking with me first?" The ice in his voice came as a heavy slap. The relief in it was lost: replaced with bitterness and disappointment.

At a loss, I raised a hand up to catch the white fur strapped over his shoulder, only for it to be shrugged away. "I-I had to come here. There are questions that I need answers to... and you were not supposed to follow."

"And what was your expectation? That I would leave you to the fate of the forest, blissfully unaware of what state you were in or if you would ever return?"

"Ar tel! I don't know, but you were not supposed to follow. This is something I was supposed to do by myself. You aren't even supposed to have found this place. How did you even manage that? And don't say that you found this place in the Fade."

"Would it be so surprising to believe that I did? When one walks in the Fade, any fortress that has seen enough battle shines as a beacon for spirits drawn to death and struggle, even after centuries of disuse. This one such temple was not so difficult to acquire access to. But, if that does not sate your curiosity, know this. You also left tracks. Tracks that were relatively simple to follow."

"And I suppose you are now a fen [wolf] in sheeps clothing, hmm? I did not even know a mage such as yourself was an expert in tracking. That is more of a skill for hunters, isn't it, than simple apostates?"

He huffed. "An apostate has to find food from somewhere, Da'len, when venturing out in the wilds."

I shook my head and turned my back to him. "Oh, you are insufferable! And stop treating me like a child."

"I will cease in doing so when you act more mature, Da'len."

"There is nothing more I find more reveling than lover's quarrel."

Jolting at the unsuspected comment, Solas snatched my hand from the air and yanked me back, my feet falling behind his while my body was pressed firmly into his back. With his other hand full with the torch, Solas cast it out, as if trying to dispell the cause for our shock with the flame. But then the torch tingled, and the first hints of Solas' own magic glistened at the crown.

Ghil'Dirthalen smiled, pleased with the effect her voiced opinion had. "Surprised, are we?"

"Ghil'Dirthalen?" I muttered, tugging my hand free from Solas.

Solas looked between the two of us. The stiffness of his stance softened, if only by a little. "You know her?"

I shook my head. "No. I found her here, or she found me. She led me to this chamber, though what for, I'm not sure. I'm not even sure who she even is, but she isn't mortal, I do not think."

"That much is right," she said. "But does that really matter? Especially when we have just had a happy reunion."

Beneath the everknit woollen lining of his hood, Solas' face took on a dark turn, appearing heavier under the soft radiance of veilfire. He kept a stern look, eyes near the likeness of a wolf regarding its prey with a fond curiosity, and caution. No doubt there was hesitation and uncertainty that he and I shared upon Ghil'Dirthalen, yet if one of us were to gain a grasp on what she truly was, it was him.

"What be your intention here?" he asked, his voice kept even. "What connection do you have to this place?"

A laugh, then a sigh was her reply. "That should be left to mystery. Where is the fun in telling you all my secrets, hmm?"

Solas' gaze flickered along her form, sharpening when her eyes rolled. "I am sensing residual energies of the Fade from her," he muttered, loud enough for only I to hear. "She is obviously connected to the Fade, though how I am unsure." He lowered the torch and took a step out. "What say you? Spirit or demon?"

"Her name is Ghil'Dirthalen," I said, "or so she claims."

He nodded. "A spirit, then."

In response, Ghil'Dirthalen coyly put a finger to her cheek and affected a thoughtful stare across the crypt, spying one of the raven statues hung on the wall. A smirk briefly caught her lip. "I prefer to be perpetual. The title, spirit, sounds so... benevolent. I am not nearly as benevolent as you claim to be, Solas, yet neither am I near as malevolence as what you call a demon. Just a shy of both, you could say, and that just makes my enjoyment all the sweeter."

I inclined into Solas' side, my head tilted, confused. "How is that possible? Isn't that the main difference between a spirit and a demon?"

"It is indeed," he said, "and what she claims cannot be the whole truth. It would be wise not to put our faith in her so blindly."

Ghil'Dirthalen frowned. "And where else would you put your faith? In the Evanuris? Your Gods? No. Your friend has lost all faith in them, a hatred so deep that to rival it is almost impossible. But you, Asha'dirthara. You still believe in your God. Wonder if he has abandoned you. No. Know he has abandoned you. Left you cursed in a world out of your time, still on the run in a hunt not even Andruil could anticipate. Hmm. I wonder what your reaction would be if I were to tell you that your God is still alive?"

An icy coldness ran through me upon the God's mention. Surely that could not have been true, or that we were even speaking of the same being. "He's... alive? But... how? I thought the the Dread Wolf-"

"The Dread Wolf did many things. Things that were not always the right choices. But yes, he is very much alive. Imprisoned, but not dead. I suppose that will give you the hope you so desperately desire?"

Solas frowned. "Hold a moment. I'm not sure I understand what we're discussing. Did you say... a God?"

"That is what I said. Pay attention."

"Surely you cannot be serious," he said, mockery upon the tip of his tongue. "The Elvhen Evanuris are legend. Nothing more. Something the majority of the Dalish have gave superstition and centuries of misguided false worship to."

"You doubt they exist?"

His eyes hardened. "I never said that. I believe the elven gods existed, as did the old gods of Tevinter. But I do not think any of them were gods, unless you expand the definition of the word to the point of absurdity."

Ghil'Dirthalen paused momentarily, her gaze turning to me. "Huh. And yet your friend here has a different outlook."

"That might be, but even she is not foolish enough to believe in this lie you have told."

"How much do you really know about her, Solas, if I am to be so bold?"

"I know enough."

"Do you? What has she told you? That she has been on the run from a power-hungry Elvhen nobleman from the majority of her life, and whom was the purpose of the power she now possesses as well as its risks? I bet she hasn't told you where her master got the magic from? Who he got the shard from? Why your little Lahris came all this way, specifically to find this very temple, and what this temple is actually for?"

Solas did not answer. His focus remained fixed on Ghil'Dirthalen, but I caught the sudden flicker of uncertainty aimed my way and the doubts that began to cloud his mind.

Already knowing the answer, she brought a hand through her hair and tusked. "No? Then perhaps she should."

At her last word, the temple's underground reacted just as it had back in the rotunda, shuddering, swaying and shaking, and just as before dust trailed from the ceiling and the ground splintered into sections, though not as harsh as before.

Ghil'Dirthalen looked ahead into the growing black of the corridor. A wry look passed her face. "It seems the answers will have to await. They are waiting."

"Who are waiting?" Solas asked.

"Who are waiting?" she whispered, then smiled. From her stand still her feet glided back, one small step at a time, and as she fell back into the chamber of ancient stone and dust, she added, chuckling under her breath, "the one's with the answers."

...

This took ages to do. I am so sorry I haven't been posting in the last six or so months. Life has just been so busy and I just haven't had time. I'm not giving up on the fanfiction, don't worry. I love it too much. I've already started working on the next chapter so hopefully that will be posted soon. Also sorry the ending is rushed. I just wanted to get this chapter up as quickly as I could. Hope it was okay.

Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter and comments are appreciated!


	28. Whispers of History

The Spectral Breath

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Whispers of History

The dead slept in all corners, entombed in crypts and sarcophagus' of old white stone, with tiny gems of sanguine, sapphire and emerald glistening in the wake of burning veilfire. My steps were heavy - feet sore, stiff, covered by worn bandages and forced to scuff along the rough-hewn stone of the temple's steps on our descent into the thicker halls of the Renan'ellin.

Ghil'Dirthalen stalked the halls in a confidence that suggested a lifetime or two of knowing its paths, her pace quick and chin held high. The loops of gold earrings clattered against her shoulders as she walked. The expression on her face was moue while she hummed a tune once meant for the dead, her mind possibly locked in a world she created, not caring if we fell behind so long as she reached her destination. Solas had yet to speak, taking the temple's infrastructure in with each passing moment, learning what he could about the history, what the temple was once used for and the fate of its people. There was eagerness in his stride, a curious glint in his eyes and a slight tint to the corner of his lip with each new pillar displaying hieroglyphs found, yet whether the curve of his lip suggested sadness or interest depended on the text's history.

Often, the torchlight he carried a little above his shoulders would catch his skin, flickering in the gloom, the magic ever-burning without oil or straw to keep it lit, and the crease between his brows would prominent in its glow. His lips would catch a bitter twist and his train of thought would end in dubiety. He would look from a crypt to a hieroglyph, trail the markings with a long pale finger, then smooth the dust from the rock, all the while muttering incoherence under his breath. Yet, often than not, his focus would fall to me, as if I held the answers he sought; the history he craved and knowledge that was beyond him.

It came as no surprise when he finally said, "You know more about this place than you let on."

There he stood, arms laced behind his back, posture straight, regal, and gaze low, narrowed accusingly and waiting for an explanation, or a defence. How he must have loathed me. Perhaps he was simply disappointed that he had not heard the whole truth as of yet.

I shied away, staring at my fingers that slowly curled in, at a loss for what to say.

Lying would have been a simple escape from the truth. How long could I possibly lie for, though? Wary, I was of the two and throw between us, the constant lies and truths becoming so intertwined that sometimes it was difficult to differentiate between them. How simple it would have been if he had not had such an intense curiosity, that he had rather played ignorant of the mystery behind my words or was in truth a fool.

He was far from a fool.

A hand locked onto a nearby pillar and gently I eased myself down to perch on the broken off corner of a tombstone. The markings on its edge were barely legible, worn away to age and dust. A tired sigh and a terrible attempt at massaging pained limbs were the actions taken before he got his answer. "You do not need to know this, Solas."

"Do I not?" He frowned. "Please, pray tell why. It was you who asked for my help, initially, was it not?

"I'm not going to say that I didn't ask for your help, but you don't need to know more than you already do. You being here is dangerous enough. You don't need to know anything else."

The chance to persuade him otherwise was lost on him, it seemed, the stubborn fool that he was. He was too far deep, in a tunnel and no longer able to see the sun. Yet still he persisted to dig deeper, knowing his fate would be set once he was too far gone.

"That is where you are wrong, Da'len," he said. "I believe I do need to know more. I have helped you, guided you ever since your first visit to Skyhold. From there, I have watched you grow, seen your power best you, then make you stronger. I have done my best to shield you from danger, to offer my service in any way I can in helping you overcome what magic lies within you, and still you persist in pushing me away."

"And you think that you have a right to know everything about me?" I snapped, fingers trembling as I spoke. "Especially when I know so little about you?"

His frown deepened. Ah, he knew it was true. "Knowing any part of my history at the present is unimportant. Yours is the one currently unfolding. If there is anything you are holding back I would rather hear it now then know of it later down the line. That is to wherever the spirit is guiding us. I have a feeling it will not bode well for either of us if I stay lurched in the dark."

Hiding from his gaze, my feet began to shuffle in the underground's dirt, shifting between the dust and rock. He was right. One way or another my past was going to appear before him. He would know everything within the temple, one way or another. There was no going back.

Fear struck my chest. Could he be trusted? What would happen once he knew? His thoughts on me would definitely change. The things I had done, the acts I had caused were things no simple person could forgive. Yet, if he truly wished to help me, knowing the truth would prove a greater test than any other and if he did have to be silenced, then I would know that the friendship we shared was for naught, that it was not to last, that he was no better than any other elvhen I had encountered.

My gaze lingered on my hands, grime-stricken and sweaty. Even so long after the first burst of power back in the entrance to the hall, flickers of violet swam along my veins, as if in hibernation, waiting for an opportunity to arise. The shard in my pack had not settled. We were close to something and whatever that something was, it set the spirit inside on edge and so myself included.

After another sigh, I allowed my shoulders to drop and weakly gestured to the torn pillar beside me. Solas took the seat offered, albeit with a slight reluctance, placed the veilfire torch against the ground and gave me time to tell my tale.

Straightening my back as far as I could without pain, I cleared my throat and asked, "What do you think this place is? This temple?"

The older elvhen took a moment to think, his gaze wandering along the corridors, walls and ceiling before returning to me. "A monument to my people. They obviously resided here, though for what purpose, still remains unclear."

"You are right, in part. What I am going to say may come as a bit of a surprise but I'm hoping you will try to... keep your mind open to it."

He gave a simple nod.

"This temple was originally a place dedicated to worshipping the Pantheon. A... holy communion, I suppose you could call it. You may have heard of temples dedicated to specific member of the Pantheon, such as the Temple of Dirthamen, but what you don't know is that this temple was unique in that it was dedicated to the worship of the entire Pantheon. Not just one of them."

I lightly gestured to the walls. The owls and crow headed wall-mounts glared back. "Each God had a place here. Each God had an epicentre, a hall, a high priest and followers. They all communed in peace. And within each hall there was an object. It is similar to the eluvians we used to use to move from one location to another. The eluvians were comparable to mirrors in structure, ranging to any size. Yet, instead of being used for travel, the objects I speak of were used specifically for communication between two elvhen. It was called a vir'renan, a voice path, similar to how a raven is sent as a messenger in order communicate to another person over a vast distance. The vir'renan were controlled by a high priest within each part of the temple and the vir'renan were said to have been originally placed within the temple by the Gods to communicate. At first many believed that it was simply folly, a ruse perhaps to gain more followers. But then there was word of the God's answering and soon many flocked to the temple's summits to see the truth before their own eyes. That was what had gotten my former master's attention."

Even as Solas remained focused it was near impossible to miss the doubt and confusion that began to surface. Perhaps he thought that what I spoke of was absurd, but if he were to know the truth, it might as well have been it all.

"So you are saying that the Evanuris... openly spoke with the People?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yes. That was what the vir'renan were intended for, I believe."

As expected, the elvhen could not help but snort at the answer. "I highly doubt the Evanuris, if they did indeed exist, would waste their time contacting mortals. It seemed that they were too arrogant and passionate in gaining more power than wishing to help those that served them."

I lightly shook my head. "So you would think. But Varhel would not take that chance. In the matter of a decade he had managed to intercept the temple and gain control. He was a powerful nobleman and his influence soon reached new heights. He allowed pilgrims to still return to the temple and created a mimic of the vir'renans for the priests. The true vir'renans were kept for himself in the hope of contacting the Gods. It was around this time that I was made aware of his plans, and also found myself at home here."

"I suppose your former master believed that in controlling the vir'renans, he would in some way find ally with one of the Evanuris. A foolish endeavour that I am sure was a waste of his time."

A small silence and then, "Was it?"

Solas tipped his head forward. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, was it really a waste of time? Or did he in fact manage to communicate with a God?"

The question was left open, mostly to allow me to regain my thoughts, but to also allow Solas time to figure out what I was going to say next. It was not long before he had caught on, his posture stilling to a near statue.

Still, I continued the tale. "Varhel completed ceremonies for each of the Elvhen Gods. For Mythal, he promised the fair judgment and trial of a peasant man he had managed to take from the streets, stating that he would not kill the man and instead would leave him to the mercy of her. She did not answer and the man was killed soon after. To Elgar'nan, Varhel promised wrath and vengeance and would do all in his power to see that all of Elgar'nan's foes would turn to ash. He also did not answer. To Andruil, Varhel promised a hunt worthy of her watch. A hundred slaves to roam free and for her to kill at her own free will. He had slaves, you see, but had recruited many... willing participants who did not really know what they were getting themselves into. He did this while waiting for the huntress' answer. After all, it was a tempting offer, but again, the fate was the same. The slaves were either killed, sent to the dungeons or returned to their duties. For Sylaise and June the offers were more thoughtful, less violent and bloodthirsty. Varhel promised to have the most formidable staff forged for June's honour, and for Sylaise he promised an enchanted vial, filled with pure white fire, supposedly a myth. Then, when they too did not answer, he sought out Ghilan'nain and promised to protect over a thousand acres of forest land, preventing any elvhen from harming her beasts. When none of these Gods answered, he turned to the last three."

Solas slowly leaned forward in his seat, catching my gaze and halting my words. "He truly believed that he would gain an audience with them?"

"He did," I said, "and he succeeded. The final three did in fact answer. For Falon'Din, Varhel promised what he could in fact give him: more followers. The greed was too overwhelming in that Evanuris' heart, I suppose, and so he answered. Gaining an audience from Falon'Din intrigued his reflected self, Dirthamen, and as a God with an undying craving for knowledge, he brought his attention to Varhel, if purely to sate his curiosity. However, once hearing Varhel's proposal, Falon'Din must have grown tired. I suppose that his input into Varhel's plans would be more than what was promised. He quickly severed his connection to the temple and my former master no longer spoke to him."

"As would to be expected in dealing with Falon'Din and his vanity, if for a time," Solas whispered. "It was said that Falon'Din's appetite for adoration was so great, he began wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn't bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans. The fear of those that he amassed surpassed even those for Elgan'an himself. Mythal, in turn, rallied the gods, once the shadow of Falon'Din's hunger stretched across her own people."

Solas gradually looked down at his hands, staring at them as if a man foreign to his own skin, imagining the blood of his tale pooling from his own touch, with a sense of what could have been akin to guilt causing his frown to darken. "It was almost too late. Falon'Din only surrendered when his brethren bloodied him in his own temple."

I lowered my gaze to the floor. "I never heard about that. I only knew what I heard from Eldar Sa'bellanar. He was an Evanuris worthy of fear, then?"

Against the emerald light of the veilfire, his blue eyes took on a darkened tinge, emotion swirling as a storm in their depths. When his gaze flickered up, all traces of guilt gone with a familiar stoniness replacing it. "Indeed, though they were all evenly terrifying. A terrible ally indeed if your former master had gotten his way."

"Yes," I whispered, "if he had. Thank the Gods then that Falon'Din didn't, or else who knows where we would be."

"Indeed," Solas said softly. "You mentioned a third Evanuris. If you are correct, then the last must mean-"

"Fen'harel? The Dread Wolf? Yes. I did."

Solas went rigid. "You're... you're sure?"

I curled a finger to my lip and tapped, recalling memories from ages passed that I had not even thought of until now. "It was not for long, I do not think. The Dread Wolf asked my former master what he planned and the rebel god thought it over, but the communication between the two of them did not last and soon the wolf's gaze was turned to other matters. Varhel was again left alone. It was strange, though. The Dread Wolf did not have a vir'renan in the temple, though he was worshipped. But he did make contact with my former master, that much I do know."

The elvhen let out a long breath through his nose, then looked up. "So you are saying that none of the Evanuris stayed in contact?"

I nodded. "One did."

"Dirthamen."

"Yes, Dirthamen. I-" At the intenseness of his gaze, I looked away, unable to meet his eyes while my mind swirled in thoughts.

A curious expression passed his face. "Is something the matter?"

Unintentionally, I bit my lip. "Solas, can I trust you?"

Taken back, his eyebrows rose. "You have trusted me thus far."

"But could I trust you with anything? Even if the information was difficult to comprehend, near impossible? Would you not judge me? Would you believe me?"

"I... depending on the information..." He paused. "Yes, Da'len, I suppose I would." Noticing my hesitance, Solas brought his hand out and closed it around mine. He brought me forward, barely sitting on the edge of the pillar, and brought his other free hand up to rest on the curve of my cheek. "You can tell me. I will not hold judgement over you."

Despite the whirl of nervousness, fear and doubt that filled my thoughts to no end, I found myself too overwhelmed by weariness - weariness of already thinking of lies to tell, of playing a near two-century facade that all began at the fall of my family. For once, I wished the worry to be gone. I wished for someone to understand my plight completely. I wished to burden someone else with my tale, that no one, not even Keeper Athrion back within the Brecillian Forest could bare, or even knew. The only person that shared my fate and knew my pain was Elder Sa'bellanar, but he was over ten centuries dead. It would be nice, I thought, if the schemes, lies and worries disappeared even for a short time.

It was then that I looked up from where his hand held mine and inched closer to Solas. I took his other hand within my own, the warmth of his nothing like the coldness that had seeped into mine. I held them there, the small discomfort of the magic in my veins and the pain flaring at my side like a well-heated poker having dulled for just the briefest heartbeat.

That was when our eyes met and I let out a shallow breath. "Varhel spent many centuries under the watchful eyes of the god of secrets. Whatever plan he had made, Dirthamen was sure to know. It was a partnership, I suppose you could say; only Varhel believed he was able to outwit the god, but no one can best an omniscient being we do not fully understand. Dirthamen had spies within the walls of the Renan'ellin. One was Elder Sa'bellanar. It was here that I met him. It was here we became friends and he became my hahren [teacher] for a time. But Varhel was not the only one who spoke to the evanuris. There is a reason I know Elder Sa'bellanar. There is a reason I was sent to the Temple of Dirthamen. There is a reason why I was even allowed to stay hidden there. That was due to the fact that... I communicated with the god often through the voice paths when my former master was away from the temple."

Solas' hands hardened around mine - the grasp close to suffocating. "You... you spoke to Dirthamen? How? How is that possible?" Though it was but a whisper, his voice could have been a whetted blade, what seemed as spite curling at the tip.

"A-at first I was relatively new to Varhel's service. I had been brought to this temple and knew no one. I was young, alone and grieving at the loss of my family. One night I was wandering the halls and saw Vahrel on his own, without a guard, walking. I decided to follow. I followed him to the central chamber and heard voices. His was as bitter as a viper, lies dripping from his tongue like poison. There was no mistaking it. There's no forgetting his voice, no matter how much I wish to. But there was another voice in the chamber, softer, a monotone of whispers, so faint the voice could almost be misheard. It was... poetic. I can only describe it as the voice of a father when reading his heir an evening tale. It was loving, nurturing, caring. It was as if he was a man a thousand years wise, a man who had seen the ages of the world so many times yet was not weary of it but found it beautiful. His voice was what drew me to him on the nights when the grieving was the hardest, when I had to undergo orders that sent my heart into the pit of my stomach and the tears staining my bed sheets. And we just... talked."

Solas blinked. "You talked?"

I felt a smile tug at my lip. For a moment I was not sure why I wanted to smile, but the thought of the god brought back a sense of safety, friendship and belonging. With him, speaking to him, it was a time when I truly felt happy. "Yes. Nothing in particular. I told him my problems and he listened. He always listened. Never once did he put thoughts into my head or guide me to do wrong. He only listened. Sometimes I wondered if he had simply left me and that I was talking to myself. In those moments he would respond with that kind voice of his and I would continue."

All too quickly things spiralled out of control. Solas pushed my hands away, bolting to a stand and clutching the jaw bone around his neck with a shaking fist. When he looked back he was sieving, his eyes as burning ice and his voice filled with venom. "You gave yourself into service of an ancient elvhen god! What were you thinking?"

I fell back against the pillar, aghast. My hands shot out in surrender. "I was alone and grieving. You have to understand, I had no one. He was the only person I could talk to! A-and what do you mean by service? He never gave me orders or told me to do anything."

"Maybe not initially, or willingly, or knowingly, but in some way you helped further his plans, whatever they may have been." Solas turned his back, the fists by his sides steadying once he had taken in a low breath. Once he had seemed to calm, he turned back to me, pity and a sense of betrayal arching his brows and flickering in his eyes. There was also disappointment, a disappointment that pained me more than the sparks in my veins ever could. "How do you even know that he was not working against you? He never told your former master of what transpired between the two of you? He never mentioned any plans?"

"No! My former master never knew about our conversations. Dirthamen always said they would be his little secret. A secret between ourselves that no one else would know."

Solas laughed, bitterly. "He would have gotten information from your conversations, I assume."

I looked down at my hands and nodded. "Possibly, but that never prevented me from thinking of him as a friend. He told me to talk to Elder Sa'bellanar and he told me to escape when Varhel was in possession of the shards."

"He knew about them?"

I frowned. "Yes, of course. Varhel told Dirthamen everything he knew. He had to, otherwise the god would not co-operate."

A thought came to Solas' mind and he carefully took his forgotten seat back opposite mine. "Have you ever speculated that perhaps Varhel came into possession of these shards from the evanuris?"

My head quickly shook. "What? No, of course not. He wouldn't do that to me."

"Lahris, tell me. How did you come to know about the shards?"

"I-I found them. They were in the central chamber on a pedestal one night." Solas went quiet, as quiet as the rest of the chamber. There could only be one reason for his questioning, and the idea of that struck my heart. "Solas, what are you trying to say? That the way I am is... is because of Dirthamen? That he did this to me?"

"I am not here to make accusations, but it is a possibility we should not so easily ignore. The Evanuris in their day were cunning, deceitful beings that would not hesitate to go against any they could to further their goals, even a friend. It would not surprise me if Dirthamen had done this to you, if what you say is true."

"It is true!" I shouted.

"And how do you know, exactly?" he yelled back, launching himself from his seat. "Did you see the god with your very eyes? For all you know it could have been a plot set up by your former master to further torture you."

"He was real! He helped me escape! He is the one who told me to take the shard, find Elder Sa'bellanar and to leave the Renan'ellin before my former master awoke by dawn. He said he would protect me. He promised he would give me the power to stay Varhel's hand! He said he would make sure that my former master would never touch me again, would never control my life again. H-he wouldn't lie to me. He... he wouldn't."

Feeling my resolve weaken, I forced myself to stand. Using the pillar to help, I hardened my heart and refused to look his way, finding solace in the dark ahead, away from his unfathomable accusations.

Solas took in a deep breath, looked at the halls with a new found quietness and shook his head. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. Looking back, his face was full of regret, perhaps even sadness. "Ir abelas. I didn't mean to cause you pain. What you told, it is difficult to take in."

I shrugged his hand away, turning my back to him. My gaze landed on the cracked floor, blinking rapidly as tears threatened to fall. "You're wrong. You have to be."

"It seems we may yet learn the truth, Da'len."

From the halls, Ghil'dirthalen's voice echoed through the dark. A shuddering weight fell upon the chamber, the walls lightly shook and a light came from the dark, piercing like a new dawn's rays. The light came through an open door and inside the door laid a chamber full of echoes, full of history, one I was terrified to step into.

...

_I am so sorry for the late chapter and I am also sorry that this was rushed, but I wanted to get it out before starting the next chapter. Thank you so much for your continued support. I have just been putting a lot of my attention into a current original story I am writing that was inspired by the Dragon Age series and did not wish to neglect this story with how much I love it.  
_  
_Thank you for all the lovely comments and I hope to get the next chapter up soon. I promise the next chapter will have a twist to it many will not expect, so keep reading haha and we'll see how it goes on from there._


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